


Roulette

by Tenzen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Reader Has Powers, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenzen/pseuds/Tenzen
Summary: You did not want friends finding out about your powers, you did not want the government finding out about your powers, and you certainly didn't want superheroes to find out about your powers.You wanted nothing to do with the Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Age of Ultron, pre-Civil War. 
> 
> Hi all! I'm writing this to get myself back into, well, writing. I don't want to put a lot of effort planning this out--I just want to write. I also am not great with keeping all the MCU events/timeline in order, so I apologize for any continuity errors.
> 
> **Romance, shipping, and 18+ content will be posted separately from the main fic.**
> 
> Shout-out to SeekingValhalla for reigniting my passion to write. Check out their amazing fic that inspired me!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594238
> 
> Here we go!

You wanted nothing to do with the Avengers. The moment you became recognized would be the moment would be forced to shoulder heavy responsibilities, the likes of which no one should have to bear, especially not alone. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through the trauma of their battles, but, you suppose, that’s what brought them together. Also the fact that they didn’t want the world in crisis, but you could go with or without, honestly. You worked retail.

The best way to be left alone was, of course, keep your abilities hidden. It was easy most of the time—you had good control over certain powers you were used to—but a few of the stubborn ones made you have to stay home for cover now and then, calling in sick at work. You got fired pretty often for the constant no-shows, and rent was hard to keep up with. But you managed, even if managing meant quick-hire jobs that drained your soul. It was barely enough for a studio.

Your secrecy left you with roughly three friends. They knew not to surprise you at home without letting you know ahead of time, even if they didn’t know why. It allowed you to keep them away when things got bad without exposing you or ruining a friendship.

Or hurting anyone.

It only happened a few times, and it was never serious, but you had accidentally hurt your siblings and parents before. While your family forgave and accepted you, the guilt never quite went away. By the time you graduated high school, you were set on moving as soon as you could handle it financially. While you felt safe at home, you didn’t trust a single other person with your secret. As a precaution, you opted not to tell the family where you were moving. With promises to visit as often as possible and reminders that they could legally do nothing about it, you left.

Friends came and went over the next few years, but your group of three stayed solid. Them aside, you were a bit lonely sometimes, but you still faired well enough mentally on your own. Thankfully you weren’t one to go out much, even without having to hide powers. It wasn’t that you didn’t like people, you just didn’t care to put in the effort. Your closest friends were all patient types; you supposed someone would have to be to befriend you.

It would be so much easier to manage your abilities if they were predictable. Hell, it would change your life, opening so many more possibilities, paths, a chance to actually achieve something. You wouldn’t have to center your life around hiding the problem.

Perhaps the Avengers had it lucky in that respect. Worth it? Not at all, not to you, but it seemed like this was the only alternative in your budget.

You had just finished brushing your teeth when a familiar sensation came over you, a soft prickling of the skin and that sudden, almost alien feeling of connection with your immediate surroundings. Thinking and feeling overlapped. You felt like you could touch anything with just your mind.

You could.

Amongst the things on top of your dresser were a slinky and a yo-yo, the string of the latter lazily unrolled. Your practice toys. Concentrating on the yo-yo, you felt what it would feel like in your hands. The smooth wood, the rough, fraying string. You willed it to move and there was a sense of phantom touch that lingered in your head. The yo-yo spun where it lay, the string winding into it neatly.

Telekinesis this time. That was good, that was a safe one. You were plenty capable of controlling it, especially since was one of the more frequent ones to crop up. All your powers were like that; the more they were used, the more you could control them. You were lucky this time around, as a safe power meant you could go out. So far you had to wait on groceries until your paycheck came in, and then another few days until, finally, you were given a safe power. The contents of your fridge consisted of an apple, a pack of shredded cheese, and three eggs. The pantry wasn’t faring much better.

You got dressed and grabbed your keys in a hurry; there was no knowing when the telekinesis would be replaced by something else, and what it could be. Last year you almost caused a multi-car collision on the highway when your hands phased through the wheel.

There was a farmers market you planned on visiting, a little one forty-five minutes away from civilization, but with fruits and veggies that the supermarket couldn’t beat. It was great on your budget, especially when you arrived before close, but you could only go when you wielded a safe power during their operating hours and weren’t working mornings. Sometimes you could go every week, sometimes it felt like the stars had to align before you could make the trip. The latter had plagued you this month, and you were excited to finally get to go.

It was a little overcast, but the roads were dry and traffic nonexistent. The highway was empty, and you smiled, relaxed. It looked like it was going to be a good day today—short work shift, no rain (yet,) a cool breeze outside that you would have rolled the windows down for if it didn’t hurt your ears.

Thirty minutes into the drive, you realized you didn’t recognize your surroundings. You forgot to put up your GPS. You kept one hand on the wheel and dug around your bag blindly with another, feeling out your phone. When you didn’t find it, you tried not to panic, deciding to take the next exit and fill up on gas while you searched your bag.

Every item in your bag was dumped onto the passenger seat, and a thorough examination confirmed your fears. You had left your phone at home. Okay, that was okay. You’d be fine and definitely would not get lost.

Luckily, you were close to your destination and the gas station attendant knew the way to the farmers market. Armed with directions, you returned on your way.

The farmers market was a beautiful sight to behold, mostly because you almost didn’t find it. It was a relief to be able to stretch your legs. An hour later you had your groceries sitting on the passenger side and started to head back.

You should have asked for directions heading back.

You were pretty sure you had gone further from the city rather than toward it, and figuring out the roads out here was a pain in the ass. You felt like you were in the middle of nowhere, churning along a gravel road that cut a field in half. The eastern side of the field merged into a forest, one that looked to have been cut down from it’s former size to make way for farmland.

A flash of light in the field caught your eye. You slowed, squinting at the field. If it was a cryptid, you would have to live with the knowledge that cryptids were real, and so you kept staring to make sure it wasn’t just light reflecting off a soda can.

There was another flash of light, brighter this time, followed by a loud boom, like a gunshot or fireworks. You would have left immediately if you hadn’t heard a cry of agony, far off in the field.

Did some idiot fuck around with fireworks and set them off too close? Or maybe it was kids playing with bb-guns, and someone got shot in the eye—whatever people out here did for fun. But someone was definitely hurt.

You shut off your car and ran into the tall grass, having to hold your arms up to keep from it getting in your face. Then you remembered your power, and with a quick scan to determine no one was around to see, you pushed the grasses in front of you down with your mind, freeing you to run. Anguished moans led you to your target, and when you were about ten feet away, you stopped using your power and pushed through the brush.

He was splayed out on the ground, the grasses around him flattened by his hulking form and stained with blood. A five-foot pipe pinned one thigh to the ground, making you sick. Before you could react, you suddenly recognized that face. That figure. Everyone did. But that was a perfect, spotless face that plastered on television, the internet, magazines. This one was bloodied, twisted in a horrible grimace.

Steve Rogers.

Captain America. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me an hour earlier: (meticulously deciding which Avenger should get stabbed with a pipe)
> 
> I'd love to know what you guys think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have gone to bed on time but nooo I had to stay up until 7 AM doing this. Thank god I don't work mornings. Sorry that your first introduction to an Avenger is with him being mutilated!

_The_ Captain America. How on earth was this possible? And he was so fucked up, too. You balanced panic at being next to an Avenger and panic at the gruesome situation you were now both in.

You had never seen a serious injury up close, and this was nothing, _nothing_ like the movies. There were definitely bullets in him, most stopped by the armor he was wearing. Even so, you counted at least three in his right leg, one in his shoulder, and two more in his right arm. But it was nothing like the injury to his left thigh. You had never seen anything like it: A huge pipe stuck out a from his thigh a few feet into the air.

Nausea hit you immediately and you turned away, keeling over and vomiting into the grass. Desperately you tried to remember what to do in an emergency situation. You couldn’t call 911. There was no one to talk you through this, no one to tell you what to do.

 _Remain calm_ , you thought. Always remain calm or you can’t help anyone. You fought your panic, taking deep breaths. Could you move him to your car? He was heavy, and bleeding so much. Would he make it? How fast did super-soldiers regenerate?

Rogers was fighting to stay conscious, fighting his body’s attempts to shut down and heal. He blinked through the blood, partially blinded, and only then did he notice you.

Your eyes met, and you didn’t know what to say. Never in your life did you feel so helpless.

He stared at you without reacting before his eyes flickered up suddenly. You followed his gaze but saw nothing. Later you would realize he had heard something, his enhanced senses keener than yours.

“Go.” He could barely speak, his voice ragged and wheezing.

You opened your mouth, but before you could reply, you heard voices.

“He fell somewhere around here.”

“Fan out.”

Your blood ran cold. He was about to be killed. You both were about to be killed.

Rogers’ body shook with the effort of speaking. “Run.”

You couldn’t save him. At least, you didn’t think you could. Your odds of surviving were far more likely if you ran now, perhaps figuring out a way to hide yourself with your power.

The other option was to do something stupid, something that would probably cost both your lives.

Only one time have you ever used your powers to save someone, and that was the time a girl in a restaurant was choking. It was easy to magic the food out of her throat. But you’d always assumed she would have likely survived regardless. This was a world apart from that. You’d have to be seen. By, quite literally, the very last person you wanted to be seen by.

You could hear grass rustling, slowly getting closer. The decision had to be made _now_.

You focused on Rogers, closing your eyes as you reached out to him in your mind. His body started to lift off the ground, and immediately an ache flared in your head from his sheer weight.

He screamed shortly, the pipe having gone through him and into the ground, and your lifting him pulled on his thigh around the injury.

“I heard him! He’s over here!”

Panic rose in your throat. _Sorry, Rogers,_ you thought, before pulling both him and the pipe out in one strong motion.

This time he bit down on his hand, but you could hear the gasps of pain from between his teeth. The moment he was freed, you ran for the forest, psychically holding him beside you. Your head pounded from the effort, the pain slowly working its way into migraine territory. You fought through it, trying to will his blood from falling onto the ground and leaving a trail.

The grass rustled behind you. They couldn’t outspeed you in this terrain; you could run silently by pushing the grass in front of you down. But they could find you easily once you made it to the trees.

Maybe you could distract them. You didn’t have a rock to throw, but you could achieve the same by making the grass move. You glanced behind you and pictured a ball of energy moving through the grass away from you, and the grass bent and rustled as if someone was running in the other direction.

“That way!” Someone shouted, turning from your direction and heading after the noise.

You didn’t stop running until you were well into the forest, in the thickest area you could find. You set Rogers on the ground beside you and leaned against a tree trunk for a moment, catching your breath and listening for whoever was chasing you. When there was no sound, you turned to him once more.

He looked at you, mouth open slightly, and you cut him off before he could think of a question.

“Phone,” you said quickly.

He looked down at his shot-up leg. There were a few pouches alongside the armor. “Third from bottom,” he struggled.

Said pouch was right next to one of the gunshot wounds. The universe did not favor this man today. You glanced at him, and he was breathing in, ready for the pain.

You unzipped and grabbed his phone from the pocket in two swift motions, and the poor man was able to keep from making noise.

You opened the phone and looked at the thumbprint lock screen. While old-fashioned in appearance, you didn’t doubt he had been hooked up with far better tech than the common masses. You offered it to Rogers, who tried to raise his good arm. When it was obviously hurting him to do so, you nervously took one of his giant hands in yours and pressed a finger to the screen.

“Call Sam.” His breaths were coming out in wet gurgles.

Sam Wilson, another Avenger. You took a moment to figure out the phone, found the name, and held the phone to your ear with trembling hands.

The phone only range once before a voice yelled, “Cap! Cap! Where are you? Your receiver has cutoff. I saw you take a hit--”

“Help,” You said, voice cracking.

“Who is this? Where’s Steve?!” The voice demanded. None of it was helping your nerves.

“He’s, he’s here. We’re hiding in the forest. He’s really badly injured. Really bad.” You glanced at the pipe. “Someone’s trying to kill us. I don’t know where they are.”

“Where in the forest?” The voice pressed. “I can barely hear you.”

“I-I don’t know. Um, my car is on the road, and the forest closest to it is where we are.” You froze when you heard voices again. “They’re coming. They’re coming!” You whispered harshly, panic lacing your voice.

Silence. Then, “Stay where you are. Stay quiet. Help’s on the way.”

The call ended. The voices grew louder. There was a hill just large enough to put Rogers behind, an old tree stump blocking the outline of his head. You put yourself up behind a tree and stayed completely still.

The voices got louder. You heard pounded in your ears. You could hear the clinking of metal. Of guns. They couldn’t be more than twenty feet away. Their voices fell silent, only footsteps through the leaf litter giving them away. Never in your life did you imagine that the scariest sound on the planet would be those of crunching leaves.

Five feet. Five more feet and they would find you. You and Rogers’ gaze met. Somehow, there was no fear in his eyes. Just pain and desperation. You looked ahead and closed your eyes.

Far away, out in the field, an explosion went off that you could feel in your chest, and then rapid-fire gun shots.

“It was a trap! They’ve circled behind us!” A voice right behind your tree shouted, and your heart leapt from your throat.

The soldiers, or whatever they were, shouted orders as they retreated from the woods to face whatever threatened them in the fields. Someone—Wilson?—had distracted them, but how many retreated?

You stayed frozen to your spot, afraid to breathe, only moving your eyes to look at Rogers. Somehow, he was still alive, staring upwards and closing his eyes with a gurgling sigh.

No one else seemed to be coming through the forest, but the sounds of death were all around you, gunshots firing, shouting and screaming. Despite that, it seemed safe enough to move from the tree. You peered around the trunk before sprinting over the hill and sliding in beside him.

“God,” you breathed, getting way more up-close with the grisly wounds than you ever wanted to be. You gagged, fighting the urge to vomit again. No one should ever have to see a pipe go completely through a human, you decided, and upon closer inspection, the pipe it was almost two inches in diameter. There was nothing you could really do for him, except maybe extract the bullets, but you weren’t entirely sure if that was better or worse. You would try—he’d tell you to stop if it was a bad idea, right?

You put a hand over the bullet wound in his right shoulder and closed your eyes. You could feel the wound, the torn flesh, even the bullet inside. It was small—more than easy to remove.

“Don’t make a sound. This will hurt,” you warned him, then flicked your finger upward. The bullet pulled straight out, some blood rolling off of it. Rogers’ fist was clenched, but he stayed quiet. The rest of the bullets came out just as easy, although you saw his knuckles go white when the ones that broke his leg came out.

You let the bullets gently float into your hands, afraid they might make noise otherwise, but the blood that smeared across your hands made you feel sick.

The pole, you left alone. Removing that would be a death sentence, it was likely all that kept him from bleeding out.

It was growing quiet. It didn’t ease your anxiety at all, and you strained to listen. Rogers was quiet as well, switching between watching you and listening. You weren’t sure what he was thinking about, and normally it would have bothered you, but you didn’t pay it heed in your fear.

Neither of you made a sound, not for another full two minutes. When the third came around, you both heard heavy footsteps. Closer, closer, closer. You weren’t sure how much more terrifying anticipation you could handle.

“STEVE!”

You jumped so hard you almost fainted. You couldn’t even speak, too shocked to breathe properly.

“STEVE? Where’re you at, man?”

“Here,” you called weakly.

A few more footsteps and a man popped out from behind the hill, making you jump again. He had similar armor to Rogers, the same make, but with a set of huge, mechanical wings that folded back in neatly once the danger passed. The Falcon.

Relief flooded through you so intensely that you slumped back against the hill, tearing up and shaken.

Wilson cursed at the sight of his friend. He immediately called for medical, then turned his focus on you. “Are you injured?”

You shook your head at his question, still a bit too stunned to speak. Wilson started first aid on Rogers, and you stepped back gratefully to let him take over.

“Is,” you tried, “Is, is it safe out there now?”

“Yes,” Wilson replied, glancing back at you as he worked. “You need any help getting to your car?”

You tried to stand and your legs nearly gave way.

“Easy, easy,” he said. “You’re just a bit shocked. I can help you in a little while.”

You watched him look down at the pole sticking out of Rogers’ thigh, and suddenly you started crying, quiet but intense.

Wilson was bent over Rogers’ arm, bandaging wounds, but when he followed Rogers’ line of sight to you, and his eyes narrowed in concern. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s all over. You’re safe now.” He was being genuine, and it made you cry even harder. But he couldn’t come to you until the Captain was accounted for.

Once Wilson did all that he could, he came to you and put a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he repeated. “I don’t know how you ended up in this mess, but it’s okay now.”

Rogers craned his head to look at you. “Thank you,” he said.

“Man, shut up,” Wilson said, “Save your energy.”

The three of you waited until medical help arrived, you explaining to Wilson how you got there in the meantime. You left out any mentions of powers. Rogers would tell him later, but you planned on putting distance between you before that happened.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when a team arrived, unable to land amidst the trees. “I can take you back to your car,” Wilson said. “Stick by me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Normally you wouldn’t come so close to a stranger, even a celebrity. But you were nearly rubbing shoulders with him as he escorted you.

“I don’t know the way home,” you admitted as you reached the car. “I got lost.”

Wilson nodded. “I can get you on the right road. Where you headed?”

You told him the direction and the highway you needed to be on, leaving out the town name.

He held the car door open for you and you slid inside. He promised to watch you drive off before he closed the door. You didn’t even realize your hands were still clutching the bullets until you reached for the wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PTSD for everyone!
> 
> *Never take out knives/etc from a stab wound! It might be the only thing keeping someone from bleeding out. This includes bullets. Reader doesn't know shit.
> 
> Sorry my description of the medical stuff is... nonexistent... I have no idea what would actually happen in an injured-agent-on-the-field scenario. Helicopter? Avengers fun plane? Sensu beans?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The millennial experience™
> 
> edit: I made a tumblr for my writing if you'd like to follow for story updates. @tenzen-writes

The moment you got home, you had washed your hands and face, stuffed the produce in the fridge, threw off your dirty clothes, and curled up on your bed, hugging a pillow and staring at the wall. Work started in fifteen minutes, but you couldn’t find it in you to go. You were mentally and emotionally drained, and there was still a dull ache in your head from having lifted and carried Steve Rogers.

The very figurehead of the Avengers, the man who had no idea that you were avoiding him in the first place, and you. There was a reason you moved away from New York. How, how could this possibly end up happening?

And why was it at your expense? This was the very reason you laid low. That experience was something you would never forget, and it was nothing compared to the attack on New York years ago. You cursed whatever events led the Avengers to your county.

 _My luck,_ you thought bitterly.

You dialed your manager. When he picked up, he spoke before you could even say hello.

“If you’re calling in sick, then the answer is no.”

“But—” you started, but were cut off again.

“I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s hard enough to run this place without flaky employees. If you don’t come in,” he sighed in frustration, “I have to let you go. I like you, I really do, and you work hard when you’re here. But it’s not enough.”

You didn’t say anything, your free hand covering your eyes as you laid back.

“Are you coming in? There isn’t anyone to cover your shift. I need you.”

The air in the apartment was stagnant and it felt like the air was thicker, too thick to inhale. You breathed deeply and felt no relief. You could barely hold up now, and you weren’t sure if you could handle dealing with customers without completely breaking down.

“I can’t,” you said softly, already depressed with the knowledge that you’d just been fired.

The call ended suddenly—he hung up on you.

_I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this._

You forced yourself to shower before you passed out.

At least unemployment meant you could sleep in.

-

You woke up at noon, lucky enough to not have any nightmares from the day before. You started to analyze the events more carefully, taking out a notebook and pencil.

The Avengers—or some of them, anyway, you didn’t know—either were responding to a crisis or on a mission. Things went wrong, Captain America was severely injured and landed in the field. The enemies combed it, looking to finish him off. You arrived, laid low, and The Falcon showed up to rescue you two. Was he injured? You didn’t remember. Details were blurry; he must have been okay if you didn’t remember an injury on him.

The Falcon saw your car from the sky. Did he see your license plate? What if they thought you were involved? Were they suspicious of you? Maybe there was a tracker on your car?

Avoiding them wasn’t a big deal, but now that you had been involved in the conflict, there was no reason not to suspect you.

You went to your car.

You probably looked a bit ridiculous, wedging yourself under your car and shining your phone’s flashlight around. Others in the complex must have assumed you were having car trouble, luckily, no one offered to help.

Your flashlight reflected off of something and you shifted to get a better look. It was attached to the belly of your car—a small square, maybe half the size of your phone. You couldn’t believe it. They actually tracked your car. But was it the Avengers, or the enemies? What would happen if you removed it?

Maybe it would hurt you, but it was better than having all of your movements tracked. They could see your routine, where you worked (or would work, anyway), where your friends lived. Safety be damned, you were going to get that thing off your car.

You returned to the car with a hammer in hand. At this point you looked more like a psychopath than an eccentric, but that was fine. Near-death experiences really put things into perspective.

When you couldn’t peel the tracker off your car, you hammered the side of it, careful not to mess up your car. While the device didn’t completely come off, you had smashed it into itself, a few pieces littering the ground.

Now that it was taken care of, you had the opportunity to properly freak out. They knew where you lived. If there was a tracker, the car’s plates were definitely known. What kind of information did license plates bring up? How much did they know?

At the very least, there wasn’t any documentation on your ability, although there may have been a few sketchy incidents in your school records. But instances of property damage and “fights” with students were easy enough to explain, though you had loathed the in-school suspensions, knowing you weren’t at fault but having to pay for it anyway.

It would be okay. Even if they did find you, what could they do? Shake you until your powers fell out of your pockets?

-

A week later, you were sweeping popcorn and candy off of sticky asphalt. Thank god for jobs with fast turnover rates. The drive-in theater was well-known in your area, to the point that it was in every “places to visit” brochure about your state. Right now there was a month-long “vintage” event where every week, the theater showed old movies and served old-fashioned candy to provide a nostalgic experience. You didn’t much care, instead wondering how people managed to spill an entire box of popcorn _outside_ of the car.

“Lot’s clean,” you said to your shift manager, who smiled in turn.

“Perfect timing! Can you help out in the concession stand? It’s a little crazy right now.

“I noticed,” you said, grateful for her good mood. Too often your managers would get stressed out when things became busy and take it out on the employees.

For some reason, someone had come up with the idea that concessions should be brought out to the customers like an old-timey diner. At least you didn’t have to wear roller skates.

“Oh, thank god you’re here. Row F, space 10,” your coworker said before you could even greet them, pushing a tub of popcorn and a cardboard tray of sodas into your hands.

It was dark out, the air cool but smelling of exhaust and popcorn butter. You navigated the rows of cars, turning into your row—F was the very back one—and counting the numbers up to 10. You hated going to the back row. It was too cut-off, far from the eyes of others.

The car was an unassuming, beige sedan, nothing that would have caught your eye. You tucked the tub in the crook of your arm and knocked on the window.

You saw the driver put something to his face before rolling down the window. He was wearing a grey cap and shades. You had met many weird people in your jobs and while it was strange, you stopped questioning things—this was probably some celebrity that just wanted to enjoy a movie without being bothered.

You held out the concessions one at a time, the driver passing sodas to the everyone else.

“Hang on, I got a tip,” he said, and you felt a small happiness. People who tipped kept your faith in humanity.

“Just a sec. Can’t find my wallet,” he said.

“Can’t imagine that happening in the dark while wearing shades,” someone in the back seat said, and reached up to turn on the lights in the car.

The driver pulled out a few bills and handed them to you. “Thank yo—” He paused, mouth open.

You fidgeted on the spot, eager to get out of the last row. “Can I get you anything else?”

He tilted his sunglasses down to peer at you, then pulled them all the way off, and you finally recognized Steve Rogers.

 _Are you shitting me?_ You screamed internally, frozen to the spot. Should you run? They knew where you worked anyway, they could chase, right?

“I don’t believe I’ve properly thanked you for saving my life,” Rogers said.

The others in the car immediately leaned over to get a look at you.

“It’s you!” Wilson exclaimed from his spot in the passenger seat. You recognized the faces of Natasha Romanov and Bruce Banner in the back.

“This was the person?” Romanov asked.

“The one who brought me away from the—” Rogers paused before he said anything confidential— “enemies.”

They had taken interest now, more interested in you than the movie.

“I—you’re welcome, but I really should get back to work,” you said, trying to stay composed.

The four glanced at each other, then all looked at Rogers.

“Before you go,” he started, and you swallowed, “can I ask you a question?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s really busy tonight,” you said nervously.

Rogers watched you carefully, then nodded. “Alright, sorry to bother you. Thank you.”

As you walked away, you were distinctly aware that you didn’t hear the car window roll back up. They were watching you. You didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these chapters too short?
> 
> Also, I've never been to a drive-in theater.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so kind I'm dying. I can't believe so many people have already looked at my fic. Thank you!
> 
> This is kind of a long one! Sorry the chapter lengths are inconsistent!

The concession orders died down as the movies began and your boss moved you to the ticket booth in the main building. You were shaken by the encounter with the superheroes and were quiet as you sold tickets, unable to muster your cheery-cashier voice. You counted the minutes in-between customers, keeping track of how long until the movie the Avengers were watching finished. Not forty-five minutes into the movie, a sour-faced woman was at the counter.

You rang up her tickets and she payed in exact change, which was fine until you counted it. “Ma’am, this isn’t a quarter.” You squinted at the unfamiliar coin. “It’s from another country.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she replied. “Just a quarter.”

You paused. “I can only accept American money.”

“It’s worth the same,” she insisted.

“I can’t accept this.”

The woman was growing angry, her sour expression twisting. “I just came from a gas station and this one was in the change they gave me.”

Ah, so she _did_ know it was from another country. This was too much after the stress of running into the Avengers. Too much to deal with. You gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we only accept American,” you repeated. The line behind her was growing restless and frustrated. People were definitely going to be late for their movie, and they would probably take it out on you.

“It’s just a quarter!”

“I can’t take this,” you said, on the brink of losing it under the calm façade. Your stress had rapidly morphed into anger. In the back of your head, you were dimly aware of an unfamiliar chemical smell.

 “They gave me this, so it’s worth the same,” she raised her voice.

Her response tipped you over the brink. “That is not my problem!” You nearly yelled. “If you need to get rid of this coin, go back to the gas station and bring it up with them!”

The woman was furious, her eyes hateful and her teeth bared. “This is ridiculous! You are rude. I want to talk to you manager.” She glared at you. “I promise you, you’re going to be fired after this!”

A burning smell filled your nostrils. You looked down and saw your hands glow a soft red, your grip melting into the counter.

“Fuck,” You cursed, your gut churning in fear. The lady screamed at you, thinking it was directed toward her.

She leaned against the counter to scream for a manager right into your face.

Too much.

There was a brief moment when fire coated your hands before an explosion went off between them, huge and deafening. Glass shattered. Everyone around you was thrown back, hitting the wall or tables or each other. Parts of the ceiling were crumbling. People were screaming and running.

Almost everything around you caught fire.

 _Fuck, fuck!_ This power had _never_ appeared before. You weren’t sure how far the explosion reached and ran behind you to the lobby. It was just like the ticket line, furniture blown apart. Everything was on fire, and it was spreading rapidly toward the concession stand.

The oil!

You shouted for everyone to go the back doors as sprinted to the stand in a panic. Somehow—maybe it was the adrenaline—you placed a hand on the counter and vaulted over it to see if anyone was still in the back.

“Get out of here!” You screamed at anyone still there. “Get away from the fryers! Go to the fire escape!”

Why weren’t the sprinklers coming on? Did those get damaged, too?

You ran back toward the ticket booth, knowing the people closer to where you had been were the ones who were injured. You helped a bleeding man to his feet and walked him to the exit. Some of the people who had been knocked over were being trampled. A little girl was lying on the ground and you jumped in front of her, trying to block off people from running over her. It was like holding back a flood.

Smoke was filling the building as the majority made it outside. Then you had to make another quick decision. There were injured that couldn’t walk out by themselves, but at the same time, there might have been others still trapped inside.

The Avengers are here! You realized suddenly. They can get these people out.

You ran back into the building, trying to stay low, the air growing hotter and hotter. No one was in the lobby. You went to the theaters next, ducking in each one in turn and calling for people. Each time, the doorknob burned your hands. At the second-to-last theater, you got a response.

A woman was trapped in by flames on either side of the stairs and on the seats. You looked for the safest route and started climbing up the seats.

“Help me!” she screamed, tears pouring from her eyes as she coughed.

“I’m coming!”

The heat was growing painful, starting to burn your skin. You reached her and took her hand. “This way!”

It was slower going down, and by then, more seats caught fire.

“You have to jump through it!” You yelled, starting to cough as well as you tried to find a path with the smallest flames. “You have to, before it gets worse!”

She nodded, whimpering in between her coughs. Smoke filled both of your lungs as you ran through the corridors. The door had caught fire, but it opened outward and was easy enough to push open with your leg.

“Come on!” you encouraged desperately, but she had slowed down, coughing harder. She had been in the theater longer. You slung her arm over your shoulder and walked her out of the building as fast as possible. If only she was able to move on her own! The two of you could have crawled to avoid the smoke.

There was blood on the shattered glass, indicating cuts that people had suffered. You tried to lead her around it. You heard nothing but the fire, saw nothing but the door in front of you, felt nothing but her weak body leaning on yours.

You made it outside. Someone took her from you—you didn’t register who, your eyes were watering from the smoke—and you collapsed. “There might be someone in there still,” you wheezed at whoever was around. “Someone…”

“It’s okay. The others are in there,” Bruce Banner said above you. You didn’t have the energy to be scared.

As blaring sirens announced the arrival of the fire department and your mind slowly cleared, the situation finally sunk in.

_This is my fault. This is all my fault!_

Banner was helping the injured. A few minutes later, the rest of the Avengers came, Rogers carrying a little boy. Your heart sank. He was hurt because of you. They all were.

Firefighters were running past you with hoses. You still coughed, throat burning, and another one appeared, crouching down in front of you to assess your injuries. She put an oxygen mask on you and talked to you soothingly.

A paramedic tried to get you into an ambulance, but you refused. He pointed out your burns. You had barely felt them through your adrenaline, and they looked worse than you thought.

“I can’t force you to go to the hospital, but you need treatment.”

You were too tired to fight, and now that you saw your burns, the pain started registering.

“Okay.” You closed your eyes.

 

-

 

The burns were second degree. They were mostly on your arms, though your ankles and calves  suffered as well after running up the flaming chairs in the theater.

You were anxious to leave, afraid of hurting even more people in the crowded hospital. After insisting, the doctor taught you how to bandage and care for your burns before discharging you.

It took a few hours, but after the fire had been tamed, police launched an investigation. There was suspicion of a terrorist attack, but the lack of any sort of bomb fragments were stumping them.

There was a knock on the door and your anxiety rose. No one should be near you. You had no idea how to control this power as it was entirely new. And a surge in your emotions could hurt other people. What if the anxiety could trigger it? What if even a simple knock on the door would set off another explosion?

You stood at the door, trying to stay calm, and peered through the peephole.

It was Romanoff and Rogers. Why, why did they have to come?

“Please leave,” you said loudly without opening the door.

“We really need to talk,” Rogers said.

“You woke me up,” you lied. “Now’s not a good time.”

Natasha spoke up then. “Listen, you can either let us in, or we let the FBI take care of this.”

“Can you come back next week?” You tried. Maybe your power would change out by then.

“No.”

You put your face in your hands, giving yourself a moment to anguish, then put the chain lock on the door and opened it. You didn’t know why you bothered with the chain, Rogers could probably snap it easily.

“We won’t hurt you,” he said kindly.

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” It was a half-truth. You were scared of them, yes, but you didn’t want to actually hurt them.

Rogers frowned, but Romanoff gave you a scary look that made you close the door to undo the chain. You swung it open and stepped back. Your apartment was a little embarrassing, but at least it was just messy, not dirty, and Rogers made the studio look even smaller. There was only a computer chair and your bed to sit on. You weren’t comfortable with someone else on your bed, so you sat there before the other two thought to do it.

Rogers actually took his shoes off and Romanoff followed his example. It was a strange experience.

You motioned to the chair. “One of you can sit there,” you mumbled.

Rogers offered Romanoff to sit—of course, he was from the thirties or something, right? You didn’t remember the year—and Romanoff accepted. You wondered if it offended her. She was probably used to it though, right? How often did the Avengers actually hang out?

“I just want to say,” you cleared your throat and instantly regretted it from the pain, “please don’t get upset, or loud, or, um. Threatening.” It was embarrassing to say, but it had to be said. “I’m afraid you might get hurt otherwise.”

They nodded; it was easy enough to infer that your powers could be set off by strong emotions.

“We’re tougher than we look,” Rogers said, trying to coax you into speaking.

You stared at him. “I _exploded_ people.”

“We’ve survived worse,” Romanoff sat back in the chair. Briefly, you wondered if it was a deliberate move, like she wanted to give off a less threatening air. But it could be nothing. Their presence just made you more and more paranoid.

And they kept looking at your bandaged arms.

Rogers cut to the chase. “Back out in that field, you carried me away from where I fell and hid us. How?”

“I dragged you,” you said dumbly. “The pole wasn’t stuck that far in the ground.” The second part was a definitely lie, it had strained you to pull that damned thing out of the ground.

“You were running,” Rogers said, leaning against the wall. “You were running _while carrying me_. I was conscious the entire time.”

You weren’t necessarily bad at lying, you just couldn’t find any way to get out of this when he had seen everything. You should have covered his eyes with your magic, but at the time you didn’t think of it amidst the chaos.

“So how’d you do it? Romanoff asked casually. “Tech or superpowers?”

You bounced your knee, tense. “Powers.”

“Telekinesis?” Rogers asked, meeting Romanoff’s eye. “Similar to Wanda?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Not right now.”

“Not… right now? What do you mean?”

“My powers cycle,” you explained. “I don’t know when it changes. I don’t know what it’ll be. It averages once a week, but it can change at any time. I’ve had a power for five minutes before and I’ve had for one ten months.”

Romanoff was silent and you could almost see her analyzing the information in her head.

Rogers looked pensive. “You don’t seem to have done that on purpose.”

 _Done that._ Yes, you did that. All the damage, all the hurt and destruction literally came from your hands. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I wasn’t able to control it.”

“But you carried me almost effortlessly.”

“Well, the more I use a power, the more I can control it. Especially if I practice. But there’s no guarantee what will show up when. This one… I’ve never had this one. I didn’t even know my powers changed from telekinesis to—to whatever this is—until that lady yelled at me.

Romanoff raised a brow. “Was that what set you off?”

You nodded, staring at a soda stain on the floor.

“What should we do, Steve?” Romanoff asked.

“Maybe we could help you,” Rogers said. “We’ve got some pretty talented scientists back at—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted sharply. “No, no no. I’m not coming with you.”

“You won’t hurt anybody. We’ll make sure of it.”

“I don’t _want_ to come with you,” you elaborated. “Also, you’re wrong and you have _no_ idea what could manifest from me next. _I_ have no idea what could manifest from me next. But more than that, I don’t want any records about my power. I’m not looking to catch the eye of ethically questionable scientists eager to figure me out like a fucking lab monkey!”

A faint glow came from your hands, steam wafting off of them. You closed your eyes and breathed deep, the other two quiet while you calmed down.

“I understand.” Romanoff said after you caught your breath. She was looking at you intensely, but with empathy. “Like you, I spent years hiding my identity. But…”

“I know.” You remembered when all of S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA’s files were released. Traffic to torrenting sites was so bad it crashed some of them.

Not that you went on torrenting sites.

“I speak from experience. We can keep you safe from the ill-intentioned,” Romanoff said. “I happen to have a talent for changing identities,” she added dryly.

“And we could keep you from hurting others. Stark, Banner, and the other scientists that work with them can definitely find a way. You wouldn’t have to isolate yourself anymore.”

The last one stung, dredging up feelings you had been avoiding. “I don’t want anything to do with you,” you snapped. “Being around your type attracts danger. I saw you in the field. It was…” You lower lip trembled for a moment, but you fought it down. “It was disgusting. It was horrible.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t my favorite,” Rogers said.

It just struck you that he had fully healed, and you stared at him in that realization as he went on.

“You showed that you’re aware you’re a danger to others,” Rogers said gently, trying as much as possible not to stoke the guilt, “so I thought I’d offer.” He and Romanoff stood.

“You’re offering to watch me, you mean.” You would have crossed your arms if it wasn’t extremely painful to do so. “You’re going to continue to do so after you leave. If not you, then one of the people you work for or with. I saw the tracker on my car. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Romanoff smiled. “So it was you.”

Rogers pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. “I can promise you no one will follow, track, or gather information on you.”

“We could pull a few strings, clear your name from the investigation,” Romanoff said.

“And what do you want in exchange?” You stood up, tone terse and distrusting.

Rogers approached you and pushed the sheet of paper into your hands. It was a phone number.

“In exchange… consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angry customer was inspired by a similar thing that happened to me. It wasn't the exact same, but I did tell her that exact line to "go take it up with them." Felt so good. After that the lady dug in her purse threw a quarter onto the counter, and snatched her bag as she walked away saying "Ridiculous!" I have never had someone look at me with so much hate.
> 
> So yeah, she had a quarter on her the entire time.
> 
> I didn't get fired, by the way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun. I'm so glad you are enjoying this too!
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want updates there I have a writing blog @tenzen-writes .
> 
> Have a nice read!

You were still unemployed a month later.

All the theater employees had to find new jobs, of course, and they quickly snapped up the quick-hire minimum wage jobs that you used to fall back on. You had to look for jobs further and further from your home, which meant more driving and thus more gas to pay for.

And there was another thing.

You looked at the S.H. Figuarts figure displayed on your laptop. Beautiful. Exquisite. So accurate to detail while being so realistically poseable.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered as you ran a hand lovingly down your laptop screen.

The rent was due in a week and you were subsiding on a dangerous amount of ramen noodles. Of course you couldn’t justify spending that much on a figure in your current situation. You didn’t have enough money for rent and you didn’t have a job to make money.

It was depressing, but at least your explosion power had gone away. It may have been safe to be around people (though safe was a capricious word when it came to you,) but you were still shaken from the fire. You couldn’t risk it. You _refused_ to risk it.

Missed calls, voicemails, and unread texts pile up on your phone over the weeks. At first you would read the texts without responding. Most were your friends wanting to hang out, and it brought you a small comfort that your presence was wanted. Still, it only lasted a little while; you knew you couldn’t go see them. Eventually, you stopped reading the texts altogether, laying in bed and staring at the blank phone screen.

Weeks morphed into two months and your landlord’s patience was rapidly dwindling. He accosted you whenever you ran into each other, threatening eviction. None of the jobs you applied for called you back. You checked your emails three times a day to see if an employer had responded. You googled everything on getting a job, fast, and that was what led you to an article about selling things online.

You doubted anything in your place was of much worth, but it was better than not trying at all. Rummaging around the room didn’t turn up much.

A memory struck you, and you turned to your bed.

-

Two weeks later, you were cuddling the box your Figuarts was in. Even the box itself was gorgeous. Your fridge was full and you bought yourself some new clothes to replace your worn ones. You still went outside as little as possible and avoided people, but a proper meal and a sense of (temporary) security eased the loneliness somewhat.

Alas, the devil would come to tempt you once more, it seemed. There was _no_ responsibility in splurging so soon after you bought your figure. But it was your favorite band. They never came to this town.

Existing was a struggle right then—you wanted so badly to go to that concert, but there would be so many people there. Your powers had been tame since the fire, and you had been in crowds safely before, but what if something went wrong again? How many people would get hurt?

You deliberated for hours before making a decision. It had been such a rough couple of months. You deserved this.

 _I’m a terrible person_ , you thought as you purchased the ticket. _I’m a horrible human being._

-

You needed this.

The crowd was deafening as the band came onstage. You could see them with your naked eye, and the fact that they were right there in person had you a little star struck. You wished you could afford to get a backstage pass, but what you had was still completely worth it.

After working up the crowd, the lead singer took their place at the microphone. People grew quiet in anticipation.

The drummer counted them off and they launched into a song—one of your favorites!—and you had a minute’s worth of joy.

The drum solo began and your blood ran cold.

The rapid beats threw you back into that forest, hiding behind a tree while battle raged just a short distance beyond. The drummer played gunshots that rang in your ears. You held your breath as if someone was trying to find you… closer… five feet…

A commotion snapped you out of it, whirling around so quickly you almost fell. People were no longer crowded close to you, but were being pushed outward by some invisible force. It wasn’t telekinetic—you would have felt it if it was—and you were the focal point that it spread out from. Like a drop of water in a pond, it went further and further, pushing people into each other.

_Fuck. Fuck! Okay, calm down. Just calm down. Deep breathing. You’ve had this one before. It’s just a force-field._

You managed to get a handle on your power and shrunk the radius of it until you were sure you could safely navigate around people. As the immediate crowd milled about in confusion, you shouldered your way through to the back of the crowd and left the venue, walking to your car just fast enough not to be jogging. The last thing you needed was to attract even more attention.

You slumped into the drivers’ seat and started to cry.

You were selfish. You were so selfish.

-

In the back of your sock drawer was the crumpled sheet of paper Rogers had given you.

It took five agonizing rings before he picked up. You were so tense, you almost jumped when he did.

“Hello?” He must have not recognized your voice over the buzzy phone speaker.

“Mr.… Uh, Captain Rogers? It’s me,” you said quietly. Had you been feeling better, you would have added a snarky ‘remember, you put a tracker on my car?’

“How’re you holding up?” He asked casually.

“It’s been… well, things have been better.” You admitted. “Um… Captain Rogers? I’ve changed my mind.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and then you heard him clear his throat. “You have great timing,” he said.

There was a knock on your door.

“Excuse me, someone’s at—hey, what do you mean by timing?”

A second knock on your door, this one obnoxious. You looked through the peephole.

 _For fuck’s sake,_ you thought with a sigh, seeing Rogers and another person you hadn’t met before. You squinted. Was that—was that Tony Stark?

You didn’t bothering with the door chain this time. “Why are you he—"

Stark cut you off immediately. “We need to talk, now. Urgently. Quickly. Promptly. With haste—”

Rogers pinched the bridge of his nose as Stark continued.

“Just come in already,” you said, already irritated. “Take off your shoes.”

Stark planted himself on the bed before you could get to it. You glared at him as you sat in your chair.

He clapped his hands together, making you jump. “Let’s get this over with quick,” he said, and you weren’t sure if he was speaking quickly because he was in a hurry or if that was just how he spoke.

“My buddy Cap here forgot a certain little detail about the first time you two met. Just a teeny little—” Stark held his thumb and index finger an inch apart from each other—"unimportant detail. Did I say unimportant? I meant the opposite of that.”

“Tony, relax,” Rogers chided, then looked at you gently. “You removed all the bullets from my body. When we secured the area, we didn’t find any a single one on the ground.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “I took them.”

“Wh… What?”

“Where are they?” Stark almost demanded, though going a little easier after Roger’s rebuke.

“I sold them on eBay.”

“You _WHAT_?!” All gentleness was thrown out the window. “You _sold_ the bullets on _eBay_?!”

“Are you deaf?” You probably shouldn’t have been antagonized him, but you didn’t need him criticizing your actions. Who did he think he was? “You’d be surprised how much people will pay for bullets that Captain America was shot by. I have about nine months worth of rent covered.”

“That’s enough months for you to find someone as clueless as you are and make a _stupid, idiot, moronic baby!”_ Stark voice raised with each adjective.

“Tell us how you really feel,” you said dryly.

“Easy, easy! They couldn’t have known,” Rogers said, moving subtly to stand between you two, and faced Stark. “If you can’t keep yourself together then go outside and cool your head.”

“Cool my head. Sure, I’ll just cool my head,” Stark said sarcastically, “while god knows who is sitting on a package of shiny, Captain America brand blood-stained bullets.”

“Why does it matter if some freak has those? I don’t care if he even licks the damn bullet,” you said. “I honestly thought I’d get more, but I guess most people don’t believe it’s authentic. I wouldn’t have. But I don’t care—It got me nine more months of having a roof over my head and a solid time frame for job-hunting. Though I can’t imagine that’s something you would understand.” You paused, then added “you asshole.”

“Did you ever consider that the bullets may be used by, oh, I don’t know, one of our adversaries?” Stark fumed.

“What adversary?” You raised a brow. “What are they gonna do, re-use the bullets?”

Rogers held up a hang before Stark could yell. “We’ve been dealing with a group for the past few months,” he said. “They keep slipping between our fingers.”

“Same ones you fought in the field?” You asked, but instantly regretted mentioning it as images of a mutilated Rogers popped into your head.

“That’s classified.” He said. “Anyway, we don’t have enough information, but we do know one thing for a fact: They’re studying biological warfare.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m surprised you’re chill about all this, Steve,” Stark interrupted. “You’re the one who has to worry. They could be developing a virus from your DNA as we speak.”

Suddenly you understood. Your stomach dropped.

“Now you get it? They could be making a virus that specifically targets his DNA,” Stark jumped up off the bed and started to pace the small room. “How much did you get for it?”

“None of your business,” you said coolly, though you felt sick inside.

“See, the thing is, it kind of is my business,” Stark said. “It involves my Avengers—” (Rogers shook his head at this—) “and the guys I’m trying to _keep from killing people_!”

You had nothing to say to that, so you opted to look at the ground.

“We’re going to need the buyer’s address,” Stark sighed.

The air in the room felt heavier, somehow. The carpet shifted as your eyes unfocused. You felt detached from your room. From yourself.

“Hello? Earth to idiot?”

“Hey,” Rogers warned.

Your attention came back, your eyes snapping to Stark. “I need something in exchange.”

Stark rolled his eyes. “I really don’t need your consent to look at your account. I could do it from home. But go ahead. What does your impoverished little heart desire?”

You resisted the urge to curse at him, not wanting to change his mind. “I want to take Captain Rogers up on his offer. To help me deal with my powers.”

“Ah, yes, so I’ve been told. The fire.” He didn’t mock you this time. “We’d have to build a place for you to practice. Something bombproof, heatproof, soundproof…” He was already thinking up blueprints.

If you practiced in a truly safe environment, you could perfect control over all of your powers that would appear. There would always be more to catch you off-guard, but it was better than nothing. Far better.

“Just one thing,” you said. “I’m not moving in. I just want to use the room.”

“Fine by me,” Stark agreed. “I’ll let you know when the room is done. Phone.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Stark was asking for your number. An Avenger was asking for your phone number.

You gave it to him and showed them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took everything in me not to write "Stark said starkastically."
> 
> I'm a little nervous about his characterization... haven't watched his movies in a while, Infinity War aside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters in five days!
> 
> This chapter ran a bit longer. I might just give up on consistency. I just kind of end the chapter when it feels right. 
> 
> Also I saw Deadpool 2! It was hilarious, but very very gory. They really didn't hold back on the mangling! Also NTW and Yukio are my precious gay children!

Stark arranged for you to fly to New York within the week.

As you refused to live in the New Avengers Facility, he set you up with an apartment. Someone was to drive you to the Facility whenever you requested. Stark would cover your expenses on the terms that you went to the Facility at least once a week so you wouldn’t take advantage of the deal.

You had called Stark, asking him to email you your plane ticket, but he had waved you off and said he already sent a taxi to take you to the plane (you demanded him not to send anything fancy.)

Every single one of your belongings was packed away—you were essentially moving your life, if at least temporarily. You curled up sleepily in the backseat of the taxi. It felt weird to think that all your earthly possessions were right behind you. There was a brief feeling of anxiety that something would happen, that they would fall out and you would have nothing.

You didn’t have other people, and so it was comforting to cling to your stuff.

After an hour of driving, you realized that you had definitely passed the airport some time ago. You didn’t know where you were. Maybe they lied to you. Maybe they were taking you somewhere else.

You worked up the courage to talk to the driver. “Excuse me, sir? Where are we going?”

“Jet,” the man said gruffly.

“No way!” you exclaimed before you could stop yourself. “I’m going on one of their fu—freaking jets?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t much of a talker, but he didn’t seem annoyed by you. You decided you like him.

It was eleven in the morning by the time you reached the small, private airport. Your jaw dropped. It wasn’t one of their specialized Quinjets, of course, but it was an entire _private jet_ they had just to take you to New York.

The driver kept waving you away when you tried to help take your luggage, but you were stubborn and got away with taking at least two suitcases.

A part of the jet was flipped out to the ground like a slice had been taken out of it, forming stairs. Inside was ridiculously beautiful. It was like a designer house, except, well, inside a plane. The seats were plush, reclined, and heated up. There was an area with affixed tables where you could sit and chat, or use your laptop, or did pretty much anything. You were pretty sure business deals had been done in places like this. And there was champagne.

_This is so fucking cool._

The flight itself only lasted a few hours. You spent the majority of it looking out the window while listening to music. The jet was above the topmost layer of the clouds, which stretched off endlessly into the horizon, like a giant sheet floating above the earth. There was nothing to block the sun, which lit up the clouds gorgeously. The windows actually tinted themselves so the sun didn’t hurt your eyes.

You landed at the New Avengers Facility.

It was _massive_ , tucked in a bit of forest with bright green grass cultivated all around the facility. The buildings were sleek and modern (you wondered if Stark hired architects or did it himself. He designed his own armor, right?) Roads gently winded from one building to the other. There was a helipad and a hangar, and you were dying to know what the rest of the Facility held.

The cab driver left, taking your luggage to your apartment while you would spend time at the Facility. Someone was sent to get you, you didn’t know who, but you certainly did not expect it to be an Avenger.

“Captain Rogers?” You said, surprised. “I didn’t think they’d ask you to get me.”

“I’ve known you the longest, right?” He joked. ”Just thought you’d be more comfortable with someone you’re at least familiar with.

He was right; you would have been antsy around any stranger that worked here.

“I, um. I appreciate it.” You avoided his eyes as the two of you walked to the main building.

He smiled down at you. “It’s no problem. You should probably know that most of the team is here. Are you ready to meet them?”

You bristled, not at all expecting to run into other Avengers in such a big facility, and certainly not all at once.

“Nope.” You said as you swiveled on your heel around turned back.

Rogers set an arm on your shoulder before you could march away. “Are you sure?—”

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed.

Rogers apologized, withdrawing his arm. “Just remember, you‘re doing this for you. Not any of them. Nothing they say, do, or think will stop you from doing what you came here to do. You’ll be safe here.”

You wanted to put your face in your hands, but didn’t like coming off as fragile in front of others, and so opted to run a hand over your head instead.

“Right,” you said, forcing yourself to remember the fire. _I’m doing this for me_.

Stepping across the threshold was like stepping into a different world. It was as marvelous on the inside as it was on the outside. There were a ton of people walking about the ground floor, though, and it was busier than you expected. You edged slightly closer to Rogers without thinking.

“We’ll go to the rec room. It’s quieter there,” he said.

You knew the other Avengers would be there. “Why do I have to meet them, again?” You asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than nervous.

“Because you might have to work with any of them. Depending on which powers of your manifest, each one of us might be suited to training with you.” said Rogers.

He went on as your head started to swim, his last three words echoing in your head.

“Say you manifest explosions again. Tony and I could resist that, help you control your abilities. As for—”

“Training with me?” You said incredulously. “I never agreed to training with anyone!”

The two of you stopped walking.

“I’m here to get control of whatever kind of luck the universe throws at me. Not to use my powers to fight,” you said.

“Who said training with others has to be for fighting?” Rogers smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. You’ll be fine.”

It felt like your stomach was twisting up the closer you got to the rec room. Not that you knew where it was, but the longer you walked, the worse it got. You felt physically ill when Rogers stopped at a glass door.

There. Through the glass you saw them, a large, colorful group, hanging around the couches and chairs. Romanoff noticed your arrival first, and she must have said something, because the next second all eyes were on you.

Rogers held open the door for you. Damn his chivalry, you wanted to go behind him, but you wouldn’t be caught looking shy. You kept your chin up and walked in, swallowing the lump in your throat. Not knowing where to actually go, you stood awkwardly once inside the room.

“Nice to see you again,” Romanoff smiled.

“Yes. Nice.” Stark sprawled back on the couch like he owned the place—well, he did, you’d give him that one.

Rogers introduced you to everyone. You nodded at them, tongue-tied.

“Before we begin, Stark said, “I want a bit of information about your abilities. Cross my heart I won’t do anything bad with it.”

You simply nodded again.

“Alright, shoot.”

No going back now. “As you know, I have powers. They change at random intervals. One power at a time.” You glanced around the room, unsure of the others, but kept going. “The intervals are entirely random. I don’t know when a power will change to something else. It can be as short as a few minutes and as long as—probably years, I don’t know, I’ve never had one longer than ten months. And it can be anything. Literally anything.”

Stark didn’t look like he was writing anything down, just threaded his fingers together over his chest and listened.

“I’ll often get repeats of powers. The more one kind shows up, the easier it is to control. Practicing helps, but… I mean, there’s some things I can’t practice safely. That’s why I’m here.” You paused. “Anything else?”

“Mhm. What’s your power right now?”

“Shields. Force-fields. However you want to call it,” you shrugged.

Vision—it was so strange to see him in person, he looked so alien—spoke up. “Would you possibly mind giving a demonstration?”

“Um, yeah. I can control this one without making a mess. I’ve had it a few times. Captain Rogers? Um, would you please walk toward me?”

“Steve,” He corrected as he came your way. You put your shield up, covering the space in front of you. It was strong, invisible, and only you could see it. Definitely a power you liked, handy for getting people out of your personal space.

Rogers, not one to be oblivious, put up a hand as he walked, and within three feet of you, he hit the barrier. “Hm.” He was intrigued and couldn’t resist knocking on the shield.

Vision looked at Wanda Maximoff, then back to you.

“That’s pretty much it,” you said quickly. “I can reshape it, but that’s about all.” You glanced between Rogers and Stark. “Not one I can really train with, so I guess I’ll go?”

“You could probably do more with it,” a deep and slightly quieter voice spoke. Banner, looking at you with interest but not intensity. “I mean, you haven’t worked with it much before and you’ll have a large area in which to do so without being constrained to an apartment.”

Did they all know you lived in a dump? What did Stark tell them? You shot him a look, but he either didn’t notice or ignored it.

“Never know until you try,” Wilson said cheerfully.

You stared at him. The last time he saw you was in that forest. He heard you at your worst, crying and blubbering and clinging to his arm as he led you back to your car.

A hush fell over the room as you stared at him.

“Does everyone know?” You asked quietly. “Does everyone here know what happened that day?”

“I mean, we are kind of a team,” Rhodes spoke for the first time.

“It’s not a privacy thing,” Romanoff assured. “We’re still trying to piece together all that’s happened.”

You thought about that day. You were having to think about it over and over now that you were around Wilson and Rogers both.

“I want to know what happened,” you said adamantly. “Who those people were that came after us. Well, you.” The enemies never did actually see you.

“No can do,” Stark said. “Classified.”

“I deserve to know,” you insisted. “I was there.”

“Sorry,” Rogers said. “Can’t dispense that. Maybe if you become an Avenger,” he joked, smile falling after a flash of anger crossed your face for a moment.

Maximoff said nothing, seeming to evaluate you. Maybe she was reserved, like you. You hoped desperately it was only that. You already butted heads with Stark (though he deserved it,) you’d rather not draw anyone else’s ire.

“So,” Barton said, tinkering with an arrow, “You going to do it or not?”

You tensed at the question coming from him. If you weren’t surrounded, you’d tell him to mind his business.

“I guess,” you relented.

-

You weren’t sure where the room exactly was, having no familiarity with the building, but you knew exactly when you had reached it. The entrance was big and trapezoid in shape, two massive, sliding doors parting once Stark put his hand on a pad next to the doors. Your jaw went slack when you walked inside. It was well-lit, made from god-knows-what types of metals and panels, although somehow Stark managed to make it look as good as the other parts of the Facility. It was huge, at least two football fields in size. And you suddenly realized that every single detail, every bit of planning, design, and programming that Stark had done was for you. When he said he’d build a room, you had never in your life expected something like this. Already, you wondered if you misjudged him.

You glanced at Stark , but he was conveniently looking elsewhere. He crossed his arms behind his back as he presented the place.

“Two hundred and eighteen meters long. Reinforced titanium, bulletproof glass , easily-accessible first-aid kits and emergency oxygen reserves. Vents can suck away and harmful gasses and, should anything catch fire, our sprinklers actually work. At both the middle of the room and at either ends are doors; behind them you’ll find an eyewash station and an emergency shower in case of chemical contact.”

What didn’t this guy think of? You were in awe, both impressed and feeling quite humble. “This is incredible.”

“You’re welcome,” Stark said.

You looked at Rogers. “Um, sir?”

“Steve is fine. Yes?”

“This is great and all, but,” you pointed behind you. “Why are _they_ here?”

The rest of the Avengers were milling about the training room, curious about their shiny new facility.

“We haven’t seen it before,” Banner explained.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Alrighty, so who’s going to be your first punch buddy?” Stark nearly yelled, making sure everyone would hear. You had a feeling he knew what made you uncomfortable. The echo didn’t help all that much.

“Punch Bud—hey, I never agreed to practicing with anybody!” You puffed your chest out indignantly.

Stark sauntered your way, standing too close and leaning over you. “Now listen, kiddo, I’m gonna be blunt, here. You haven’t been handling this too well on your own. Whatever you’re doing to try to mitigate your issue, it ain’t working.” He ignored your hateful glare. “You need someone, someone with experience, to guide you through whatever the hell it is you’re going through.”

The other Avengers hesitated and you took the opportunity to give Rogers a pleading look.

“I can’t,” he said sheepishly. “I don’t use magic. I wouldn’t really know where to start.”

Everyone looked at Maximoff. She looked at everyone else, then at you. The both of you seemed equally uncomfortable.

“Is that okay, Wanda?” Vision asked her, voice surprisingly tender.

“Yeah. That’s fine,” she said.

“We’ll take our leave, then,” Rogers announced, cueing the others to leave. As they filed out, you shot a look at Stark. “I don’t want you to watch me. I know there cameras somewhere in here.”

Stark put his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright.”

The others filed out of the room and you were left alone with Maximoff. You stuck your hands in your pockets, uncertain.

“Wanda,” she spoke up. “My name is Wanda.”

“I know,” you said curtly, then regretted the tone. She looked the same age as you, maybe even a little younger. The files that had been released on S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA didn’t have much on the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, so you knew little about her. Whoever she truly was, she probably didn’t deserve that. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough week…” You introduced yourself.

“That’s alright. It’s nice to meet you.” She took in the massive room again. Apparently Stark could still surprise. “I can make energy fields too. Are you limited strictly to force-fields?”

“Yeah. I mean, right now I am.”

Wanda held up her hands and your eyes lit up when you saw red energy spinning gently above them.

“Wow!” You came right over, shyness gone. “That’s amazing!”

“Thanks,” she smiled sheepishly, then raised and spread her arms out. The red energy stretched outward into an oval barrier, separating the two of you.

You hesitantly tapped it. “Feels similar to mine. I can do this.” You mimicked her motions, spreading your barrier the same.

“I can’t see it,” said Maximoff.

“Only I can.” You willed your barrier forward to tap hers. “Cheers.”

She smiled a little wider at that. “Does it look the same?”

“Right now, yeah. But it doesn’t turn into that… that red energy you have. It doesn’t come from a base energy, I guess. It is its own thing. But I can morph it a little.” You shrunk the barrier down to the size of a plate. “When it first manifested, it was flat, but now I can bend it to make a bubble around me. Once I made a dome around my tent when I was camping to keep away the bugs.”

“I’ve done similar,” she laughed. “Not camping. But it keeps the cold out when your heater breaks down.”

“I’ll have to try that sometime.”

“Hopefully, you won’t need it.” She held up her hands. “Now, how far can you extend your shield?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never actually tested the limits.”

“Try it,” she said. “I can’t see yours, but try to match my barrier anyway.”

The red energy expanded like someone had simply taken the edges of the oval and stretched them impossibly, further and further until it was nearly forty feet in diameter, making you step back as you looked up at it.

“I don’t know about this,” you said, raising your hands regardless. You put the tips of your fingers on the central point of your barrier, then opened them, the ends of the barrier flying outward. The growth slowed when it was only half the size of Maximoff’s, but with focus, you were able to match them.

“I got it. That wasn’t so bad.”

“Keep going,” she said, starting to widen the red barrier until it nearly reached the ceiling.

Your own shield followed hers and you had to shut your eyes tight in concentration. An ache began in your temples, growing as your barrier did. You resisted it as much as you could, trying to keep up with Maximoff, but before you could match hers, a stab of pain made you yelp and drop the barrier.

“Fuck,” you cursed and clutched your head.

She was immediately alarmed. “What happened?” She asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just went for it a bit too hard.”

“There’s a limit to your power.”

“Doesn’t everyone have one?” You said, slumping to a sit and rubbing your temples. “You can only be so strong. Right?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But nothing is forever.”

There was a tone to that you couldn’t read.

She continued. “Maybe I rushed it too much. I didn’t mean to hurt you. We can try something else…”

-

You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but it had to have been at least an hour. Maximoff had guided you through pushing how far your barrier could go from your body, how fast it could go outward, and how much force it could give off. All of those things had put stress on your body, and by the time you had finished, you were nursing quite the headache.

Before you left the room, you looked up to one of the hidden cameras in the ceiling and gave it the finger.

“I can walk you to the exit,” Maximoff offered.

“Yes, please.” You idly rubbed your temples.

She looked concerned. “Does it always hurt?”

“Um, not always. I guess it’s like working out a muscle. Hurts when you go further than what you’re used to, but as you get better, it hurts less.” There was a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. employees who walked by and you lowered your voice. “Just like you have to start working with stronger weights to get the same results, I guess I have to keep pushing myself.”

“Makes sense.”

It was surprisingly easy to make small talk. The both of you lowered your walls a little bit, testing the common ground that you shared. You wondered if this would have gone differently if you had a different power today. Would she still want to talk to you?

“Here we are. You have a ride?” She stood in front of the main doors.

“Yeah, I texted for a cab. Hey, uh,” you shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks for your help, Miss Maximoff. I appreciate it.”

“You can call me Wanda, really,” she said. “It’s fine. I had fun.”

The statement made your chest tighten and anxious pain rumbled in your stomach.

“Right. Wanda. Thank you,” you said quickly. “Cab’s here.”

You jogged off fast, distancing yourself as soon as possible.

_I had fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we finally meet the team!
> 
> I'm on tumblr at tenzen-writes. It's pretty bare bones right now, but I post chapter updates. Feel free to drop a line!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me deciding which avenger to interact with next: I've got beans, greens, potatoes, tomatoes, lamb, rams...
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kind messages! They give me LIFE! I understand why fanfic authors always press readers for comments now. It's like crack. Very inspiring crack!
> 
> Happy Pride Month!

“How was your first day?” Rogers asked pleasantly.

The two of you walked through the main building of the Facility. Well, more like he led and you followed awkwardly, feeling like a duckling behind the giant man. It ought to have looked strange, but no one seemed to pay any mind. These people must have seen some weird things in their employment.

“Not bad, actually,” you said as you tried to memorize the way to the training room.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “That’s what makes me wary about the whole thing, I guess.”

Rogers nodded. “I can understand that. The others and I, we know each other’s powers and capabilities. You don’t have that.”

“I mean, I know what the general population knows. But not with that depth of understanding, yeah.” You looked up at him. “Has it been hard since the files were released?”

He stared ahead of him, thinking. “It’s been… fair.”

You weren’t sure what to make of that, so you dropped it. “Am I training with Wanda again?”

Rogers cracked a smile at your use of her first name. “Actually, I was thinking that I’d help you this time.”

“You?” You frowned. “How could you help me with this? You can’t even see the barriers.”

“How strong are they?” he asked.

“They—uh—actually, we didn’t work on that one,” you realized. “So, what, are you gonna punch my shield?”

“Looks like it,” he smiled. “We’re here.”

You put your hand on the panel and the doors slid open. “Cool.”

At least if Rogers trained you, you wouldn’t have to go to the rec room again and see the others.

Once the two of you were situated, standing thirty feet from each other, Rogers said “alright, put ‘em up.”

You raised your hands, materializing a barrier that curved in front of you. “It’s about twenty feet out from me.”

He crossed the distance and put a hand against the barrier once again. Once he felt where it was, he pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into the shield.

You could feel the force of the blow in that strange manner that always came with your powers. Painless, but a force that you could sense. Like echolocation, but with touch instead of sound. It shook your concentration.

“You hurt?” He called.

“No, I’m good. I don’t feel it. Um, go ahead.”

Rogers threw a one-two punch, and you had to actually keep your arms up to maintain the barrier. The force behind his blows was ridiculous. He started to punch continuously, arms up like he was in a fight. It almost looked like he was using your shield for boxing practice.

Your barrier started to move, gradually being pushed back by each hit of his gigantic fists. You felt your strength ebb and your body heat up the more you resisted until you were sweating like you had run laps.

“Come on, keep it up!” Rogers encouraged. “Keep going!”

 _I’m trying_ , you thought, breathing too hard to respond. You dug your heel into the ground and leaned forward, pushing your arms all the way out.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said in between punches. Your barrier had stopped moving backward, but you had cheated a little, reducing its size to make it easier. It still was enough to cover you, but a smaller size meant less energy to spend. Rogers couldn’t see that, though, so that worked out for you.

You held him there, gritting your teeth as he tirelessly rained blows on the barrier. Pain began to grow in your temples. Your barrier started moving again, drawing closer and closer to you.

“Come on!” Rogers yelled. You pushed back, but barely slowed him. The barrier was five feet in front of you now, and edging closer. Rogers stopped punching, afraid to possibly hit you, and instead placed both hands on it and pushed. He was literally pushing the barrier back into you, his muscles straining with effort. You grunted, leaning entirely into your barrier, pain increasing, head throbbing…

The barrier disappeared.

You and Rogers crashed into each other at full strength. His bulk won out and you both toppled over in your direction. You fell in an awkward heap, and it would have been both hilarious and highly embarrassing if the wind wasn’t knocked out of you.

The pain set off a spark of anger and you gasped, “Get—off!”

An explosion rang in your ears and suddenly Rogers was flying backward through the air. He hit the ground and rolled expertly to his feet, patting his shirt to put out the embers.

You sucked in air and tried to stand. Rogers was in front of you, offering his hand, which you accepted. The moment you caught your breath, you were apologizing.

“Shit—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck, I’m sorry,” you put a hand on your head in exasperation. “See, this is exactly what I meant, I’m too unpredictable to be—”

“Look at me.”

“What?”

He indicated himself with a sweep of his hand. “Look at me. I’m fine.”

True to his word, he was uninjured. His clothes were a little singed, but there wasn’t a single burn or bruise on him.

You sighed heavily, closing your eyes.

“Relieved?” Rogers smirked.

“Yes! God,” you rubbed your temples. “You have no idea.”

“So you don’t regret moving here?”

“I never said that.” You smiled despite yourself, then looked around the room thoughtfully. “…you should get out of here.”

“Hm?” Rogers raised a brow. “You done with me?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean,” you said, “I’m going to test the durability of this room. See the Stark Industries quality for myself.”

Rogers barked out a laugh. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks.” You hesitated as he turned toward the door. “Um, Captain Rogers?”

“Steve,” he corrected. “Yes?”

“Right. Thank you for your help today. Sorry I blew you up.”

He suppressed another laugh. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

You waited for the double doors to close before you turned to the expanse of the room. “Okay, Mr. Stark. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

-

Tony Stark had to make many, many calls to assure the New Avengers Facility staff that no, they were not under attack, everything was fine and all explosions were contained in a controlled environment. Normally, there were advisories when arms training was occurring—they ran drills and tested weapons on the grounds as well—but he hadn’t figure to add your training room to the advisory list. Perhaps he had put just a bit too much confidence into his ability to soundproof explosions.

-

It felt _so_ good to cut loose.

You didn’t have to hold back anything. You didn’t have to fear for your surroundings. You just leaned back and let the explosions go off in the air around you, skin tingling pleasantly. You didn’t try to control it, you didn’t try to shape it. You just let go.

You leaned back, vaguely realizing that while the explosions were loud, loud enough that you could hear nothing else and your ears would ring, they didn’t do any actual harm to your ears. You wondered if that only applied to you.

Pain flared in your temples without warning and you cursed, clutching your head. Despite needing the release, explosions were immensely powerful, draining you faster than making barriers did.

You couldn’t go on without developing a full-on migraine. You flipped off the camera just to be safe before leaving

You were a sweaty, gross mess when you stepped out into the hall. _I need to remember to bring a towel_.

It was highly unfortunate, then, that you ran into Stark before you even made it to the stairs.

“Back so soon?” He probed.

“Is that a problem?” You crossed your arms defiantly. “Using this room is why I’m doing all this in the first place.”

“No problem. I just thought you’d be coming for the minimum time. You don’t seem to be a people-person,” he teased dryly.

“I _can’t_ be a people-person, asshole.”

“Can’t argue that,” he relented. “So, we gonna see you tomorrow?”

“ _You’re_ not gonna see me,” you said firmly. “I’ll come in, practice, and leave. I don’t need anyone for this.”

“Alrighty, then. Have fun in the boom room.”

-

A good night’s rest and a warm meal did wonders for your energy. It was nice to have ingredients to cook with for once.

The next day was spent as you said, making a beeline straight to the training room. Now that you had released your pent-up power, you could focus on controlling it. Over the next few days, you practiced adjusting the size of the explosion, how much you could contain it, how far you could generate one, and even attempting to throw it across the room. The sessions were short what with how fast the ability drained you, but it seemed to be sticking around for a while and so you took advantage. Only a few times did you pass an Avenger, and you kept your head up and walked without talking to them (unless it was Rogers or Wanda; you would great them briefly.)

The next week, you walked into the training room, towel over your shoulder, and raised your hand to shoot an explosion forward. Nothing happened.

_Oh, I guess it’s done._

You walked back out of the room, at a loss for what to do. Calling the cab so soon felt like a dick move, so you decided to chance the rec room. Maybe you could watch TV for a couple hours before going home—they had a huge flatscreen in there.

You peeked around the glass door and saw that the room was empty.

It was a waste of time, perhaps, but the couch was plush and they had cable.

An hour into the History channel, you heard the door open. You whirled around in your seat to see six of the Avengers filing in (you decided right then that there were too many of them) and one by one, their looks turned to that of surprise upon discovering you.

“Speak of the devil,” Stark said, making you tense.

“You’ve been talking about me,” you stated coolly. “I don’t like that.”

“Nothing bad!” Banner cut in, trying to diffuse the situation before it started. He, along with Vision, Barton, Wanda, and Wilson, had come in behind Stark. “We were just talking about your abilities.”

You glared at him, but his demeanor was so gentle that your expression softened.

“What brings you here?” Wilson asked, looking at the TV. “Ancient Aliens?”

“Yeah. It’s nonsense, but it’s fun.” You glanced between the Avengers. “I’m here because my power switched out. I don’t know what to, but I didn’t want to call the cab so soon after I arrived, so.” You indicated the TV.

Barton grabbed a beer from the fridge and hopped over the back of the couch. “I’m good to watch nonsense.”

He was the first to sit on the same couch you were, and you narrowed your eyes at him in your uncertainty. “Why are you all here?”

“It’s the rec room,” said Wilson. “We’re here to rec.”

“That’s not a word,” you griped. “What do you guys usually do?”

“TV. Ping-pong. Public naps,” Stark said.

Wanda came over and sat next to you. Vision followed suit and Banner, one to avoid awkwardness, sat on the smaller couch to the side of the main one instead of taking the last spot next to you.

“I can go,” you said once Sam went to sit as well. You didn’t want to cut into whatever free time they had.

Wanda tilted her head just a bit. “Why not stay?”

“Yeah, hang out with us,” Wilson said, sprawling out across the loveseat.

You shrunk a little from all the attention. “I’m not exactly safe company.”

“Speaking of which, I was wondering,” Banner asked, “how do you find out what your power is once it switches?”

You paused at the sudden inquiry. “If it’s something I’m familiar enough with, I can sometimes sense it. Otherwise I just try things I know how to control until one comes up.” You struggled to explain it. “Say my power switches. I might try and make something levitate. If it doesn’t, I’ll try to throw something to see if I have enhanced strength. And so on,” you said. “Otherwise, it finds me.”

Clint took the remote and turned on subtitles. “Try anything yet?”

“Only the things that don’t involve effort.”

Wilson laughed at that. You realized how much you missed the sound, the conversation. You had known isolation for most of your adult life, and now you were in a relatively safe place. You could just… be around it. “Um, I guess I’ll stay.”

Wanda and Vision smiled. Wilson beamed.

“Telekinesis, super-strength, barriers, explosions,” Stark listed. “What else do you have?”

“I’ll write it down for you,” you said dryly. “Got a piece of paper?”

Although you were joking, Stark pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and handed it to you along with a pen. Of course someone like him would keep that handy.

You wrote down ‘none of your fucking business’ and handed it back to him. Stark frowned when he got it. “You’re mean.”

“You’re nosy.”

“All the greatest minds are.”

Everyone rolled their eyes in sync.

“Okay. I get it. Disrespect the one that made all this possible. I see how it is.” He turned away with false indignance. “You’re all horrible.”

“I can’t hear the TV,” Barton said.

“ _You_ can’t hear at all,” Stark retorted, knowing full well Barton didn’t have total hearing loss.

“We both know I’m telling you to be quiet,” Barton replied, grumpy. “I’m missing Ancient Aliens.”

Vision noticed the corners of your lips twitch, but said nothing about it.

“If you stop talking, I’ll tell you one of my powers later,” you jabbed at Stark.

“I’ll take it!” he exclaimed brightly, then hastily left the room.

You watched him leave and turned to the others with a confused look. “Why did he run off?”

“I don’t think he’s capable of being quiet,” Barton said flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to have the reader tell Stark to mind his own business since I started writing this fic.
> 
> Please comment! I'd love to hear from you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad my characterizations are somewhat accurate! All of you give me life. Thank you for this food.
> 
> And in return, I give you Chapter 8!

After the program finished, everyone was deciding on a movie when Rogers and Stark walked in.

“Oh, hello,” the former said upon seeing you.

“Is my time up now?” The latter called out. “I think I’ve done enough.”

You sighed. “Sure. Um…” You wracked your brain for one. “I can make mirrors.”

“What kind of mirrors? Literal mirrors? Or can they reflect attacks?” The onslaught of questions was instant.

“I said I’d tell you one of my powers. I never said I’d explain it.” His face fell, and you felt a little bad. He had made the training room specifically with you in mind, after all. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

Stark cheered up, and Rogers said “Don’t encourage him.”

“Why is everyone here against me?” Stark asked, to which no one replied. “Oh, I see. A rhetorical question. Thanks.”

Rogers glanced at the available spots on the couch. The only spot left (unless Wilson moved, which he was unlikely to) was next to you. Rogers went and sat on Wilson’s chest.

“Hgh-!” Wilson wheezed. “Get off, fat man! You’re crushing my lungs!”

The two started to bicker playfully, Wilson managing to shove Rogers off after a minute. Rogers stayed sitting on the floor, leaning against the loveseat.

You wanted to offer him the spot next to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Especially not with Stark in the room—no doubt he’d rib you endlessly on how you were opening up to everyone but him.

The others went back to deciding on a movie. They asked for your input at one moment, but you simply shook your head and told them you were okay with anything. They chose a Disney movie after Rogers asked for something light. After learning that he’d never seen The Lion King, Wilson and Clint freaked out at him and demanded he watch it.

You decided to make yourself useful and went in search of popcorn.

“Pantry’s there,” Stark said from behind the fridge door, pointing without looking.

You found it and browsed the boxes upon boxes of popcorn. “Geez. Got enough popcorn here?”

“Everyone’s picky,” Stark replied. “Just grab whatever. They can’t complain if they aren’t the one making it.”

You pulled out a box. “Stark?”

“What?” He took out a jaw of mayonnaise, sniffed it, and made a face.

“You made that room.”

“Good observation skills. Kobe!” He threw the jar into the trash can, then punched the air with both hands when he made it.

“You made it because of me.”

Stark pulled out a jar of jelly and opened the lid to sniff it. “Christ. You’d think people would check the dates on these things. Do you know how long it takes jam to go bad? It’s like a college dorm in here.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said as he aimed the jar. “Mr. Stark? You made the room for _me_.”

He threw the jar right as you made the statement, and his surprise messed up his shot. The jar hit the ground and shattered.

Everyone watching the movie turned around.

“They dropped a jar,” Stark said, pointing his thumb at you. The others turned back to the movie, assuaged.

“Hey! What’s your problem?” You seethed.

“So why didn’t you go to college?” Stark completely ignored your question as he projected a screen from his watch.

“Don’t change the subject!”

He pressed some buttons on the screen and collapsed it. “I mentioned college earlier. That’s not changing the subject.”

You nearly stomped your foot in frustration. He kept asking questions with an obvious answer. How many times would he make you bring it up?

“A stressful environment filled with people sounds like a _great_ place for me,” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“The Avengers Facility Roomba is on the way,” Stark clapped his hands together. “So, what did you do during K-12?”

That was, at least, a solid question. You grumbled. “It wasn’t bad in the early years. Kickstarted during puberty, and gradually got worse as I grew up. I was able to graduate with my class without major incidents, but after I passed eighteen, it just kept getting worse. As you could see, I can barely hold a job.”

Stark looked down at you. Looked down _on_ you. “Have you considered getting a less stressful job?”

“With what degree?” You raised your voice, clenching your fists. He was horrible. Every time you thought he was nicer than he seemed, the bastard changed your mind. You couldn’t talk with him without getting frustrated. He always seemed to have it in for you.

“What the hell is your damage?” You continued. “I haven’t done anything to you! I try and mind my business but you won’t leave me alone!” Your breathing was short and your nostrils flared. You were absolutely ready to fistfight him.

“I like to keep track of liabilities,” Stark looked over you, his chin up. “I mean, if you’re dangerous enough that you moved away from your family—”

You roared and went to strike him, but his wide-eyed stare made you stop. You followed his gaze to your hands, which were dripping something foul and black. The liquid hit the floor and sizzled.

_ACID?!_

It wasn’t just from your hands, either. Your clothes started to burn and smoke.

You tore out of the room without another word. The soles of your shoes were dissolving into a sticky mess, stinking of burning rubber. You kicked them off and kept running, leaving smoking footprints that dissolved into the floor in your wake.

“Tony, what did you do?” Rogers crossed the room in two seconds and all but slammed him against the fridge.

The others had jumped to their feet.

“Okay, okay! I fucked up. Let me fix it,” Stark coughed.

“There’s some things you can’t fix, Tony! You are _not_ going to bother them right now,” Rogers hissed.

“I have to.” Stark looked Rogers in the eye. “Let me do this. I know you don’t trust me, but… Trust me. Please?”

Rogers glared back at him for a moment, then released him, muttering that he better not make things worse.

It was easy enough to follow your footprints to the training room. The doors were stuck half-open. The reason why was evident on the door panel, where a sizzling imprint of your hand left exposed wires sparking.

“Kid?” Stark called out, his voice echoing in the vast room. When there was no answer, he pressed forward. “There’s a lot of space to cover here. Help me out?” No response. There were only a few doors, luckily, and one by one he checked them until he stopped at the last. There was a bit of water by the door; you must have tried the emergency shower.

You were sitting against a corner, arms wrapped around your knees. Your clothes had burned off and you were wet from the shower. It washed off the acid at first, but the acid just kept coming like sweat. The floor below you didn’t melt, thankfully—the room had done its job. Still, the room was naturally cold, and being naked and wet made you shiver. “Don’t come in here.”

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “Please, may I come in?”

“I’m not decent,” you spat. “Unless you have a blanket that doesn’t dissolve, leave me alone.”

“I’ll figure something out, I swear. Are you cold?”

“What do you think, genius?” Your tone help nothing but contempt.

There was a moment of silence, and then footsteps leading away. You rested your chin on your knees and marinated in your hatred.

-

A voice you didn’t recognize at first called your name.

“Who is it? Don’t come in here.”

“It is Vision,” the cyborg said. “I have some things for you. I can leave them outside the door, if you’d like.”

You looked at the acid that ran from your body into the shower drain.

“If you close your eyes, you can push them inside,” you said. Vision being around your naked form didn’t bother you nearly as much as any of the other Avengers. Perhaps it was because he was born from a computer. He wouldn’t feel anything regarding your nudity. Still, you preferred him not to look.

The door opened and the cyborg carried in a space heater and a shiny, steel plate loaded with dinner. He set them down without opening his eyes. “We’re figuring out a way to fix this. Please hold on a little longer.”

You touched the edge of the plate. When it didn’t burn, you took it and the heater confidently. An equally shiny fork and knife were sticking out of a baked potato.

“You can’t fix this,” you said, utterly defeated. “I just have to wait it out. It’s always like this.”

“Put your trust in Stark and the other scientists. He did make me, after all. One part of me.” Vision only heard the clinking of utensils. “I understand that Mr. Stark is… capricious. But he will not abandon you like this.”

Eating dinner, naked, in front of Vision was not an experience you ever thought you would have.

“I hate him,” you said finally. “I don’t get him at all.”

“Even I don’t fully understand him.” Vision stepped back gracefully, pushing the door open. “Someone will return later.” He left you to your privacy.

Amazingly, the space heater had no cord. You didn’t know how something like that could possibly be battery-operated, but then again, it was also acid-proof. Asking questions about technology was useless at this point. You turned the dial and a welcome blast of heat enveloped your body.

Left alone to your thoughts, you grew depressed. How long would it be like this? What if it was for days? What if it was for _months_? You would have to sit on this hard floor forever. They would bring you meals, like a prisoner. You would have to run naked to the one toilet installed in this stupid training room. No books, no video games, no internet.

At the very least, you thought, you couldn’t hurt anyone else this way. Had this happened at your apartment, there would be a ridiculous amount of property damage. Someone could have possibly gotten hurt. This was the best option, you assured yourself weakly.

You picked up a carrot and watched it dissolve between your fingers.

-

You had dozed off. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when a voice woke you up. It was not Vision’s, but Stark’s.

“I’m not looking!” He announced before nudging the door open. “Incoming!”

Before you could yell, a blanket was thrown into the room, followed by another, followed by three pillows. Each item hit the floor with a heavy _thunk_.

You touched them. While they were heavy and not nearly as soft as actual linen, it was something you could sleep on that didn’t melt. “How did you do this so soon?” You asked, shocked.

“So soon? It’s been hours.”

“When it comes to the creation of acid-proof fabric, that’s soon.” You rubbed your face. Your tailbone ached terribly from sitting on the hard floor for so long. You gathered up the blankets and made a makeshift bed for yourself.

“No ‘thank you?’” Stark asked.

“Fuck off.”

Silence. Then, “Hey, kiddo?”

“I’m not a kid,” you replied curtly. “Don’t try and placate me now after what you did.”

You could hear him tap his foot. “Okay, but hear me out.”

“I don’t really have a choice, here,” you said bitterly.

“Then that works out for me,” he couldn’t resist, but he caught himself and there was a tenderness to his tone afterward. “Listen. I’m sorry. I was trying to get a rise out of you to see if your power would come out.”

“You’re an idiot,” you interjected, but he continued.

“I went too far. I should never have done it,” he said softly. “I’ve seen that you’re still adjusting to your new situation, and I ignored that. I was selfish, and I apologize.”

_You were selfish. You were so selfish._

You blinked and was surprised to feel tears well up in your eyes. Even more so when you wiped them away and saw that they were acid. At this point, you had really ought to be used to these things, but in your life, every ball was a curve ball.

Stark said nothing else, but he didn’t leave. You wondered if he was waiting for some kind of cue, or maybe he just felt bad about simply walking away. Well then, you would let him stew in his regret.

Only when you heard him get up did you quietly say, “I can understand selfishness.”

He was silent, perhaps thinking. “You’re a good kid,” he said finally, and started to leave.

“I’m not a kid,” you shouted after him, but you only heard his footsteps.

-

The next day, Wanda woke you with breakfast. You had smelled it before you heard her—your body had practically floated to it a cartoon character.

“Whoever cooked this is amazing. I haven’t had french toast this good since my friends took me to IHOP for my birthday last year.”

Wanda laughed in that breezy manner of hers. You loved her laugh. “Thank you very much.”

“Woah, you made it? It’s great!” You grinned, even though she couldn’t see you. “You’re multi-talented.”

“I suppose so.”

“Don’t be so humble,” you replied. “Thanks for the breakfast. You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“You must be bored, though.” You couldn’t see her face, but her tone was one of concern.

“Can’t deny that. But you don’t have to entertain me. You have cooler things to do, yeah?”

“I’m happy to entertain you,” said Wanda cheerily, and you felt a tug on your heart. Right then, you were eternally grateful that you had befriended her first.

 _First?_ You only dwelled on the implication for a second before deciding it was easier to bury the thought away.

“So you _Wanda’d_ to help me?”

It was horrible, but maybe she hadn’t heard many puns in English, because she giggled.

The two of you talked through the door for what felt like hours. You came to know her better over the course of time you ‘hung out.’ Separated from each other, it was easier to talk about difficult topics. You shared each others’ stories.

You learned of her life after being orphaned. Seeing the mortar labeled Stark Industries. The years of burning hatred, the protests against the Avengers. The invasions and riots. Signing herself over for experimentation in the hopes of ending the war in their country.

Wanda learned of your strained relationship with your family. How they loved you, but were always on guard around you. How you and your siblings stook up for each other, and yet were scared of you. How you were rightfully treated like a time bomb that could go off at any minute. How school and maintaining a social life became more difficult as you grew up, how you barely graduated. She learned of your incredibly shitty life after high school, up until you found Steve Rogers.

“Vision?” Wanda said suddenly, and you looked up. “What time is it?”

Neither of you had heard the door open, too engrossed in your conversation.

“Noon,” Vision replied. “I brought lunch, and what Stark insisted I call a ‘Super Kindle.’ Really, it just projects books. I’m opening the door, now,” he warned.

A tray was pushed in. Next to your plate was a small, watch-like device.

“He wants to apologize for taking so long, but he couldn’t figure out an acid-proof touchscreen. You’ll have to use voice commands to start it up, but you can touch the projections, of course.”

“I’m going to eat and try this thing out. Thank you both.”

-

Stark brought you (through Vision) an upgrade chip for the “Super Kindle” that let you browse the internet and stream media. It made passing the time tolerable, but you were getting a little stir crazy by the time your power switched. Four days had passed. You had smeared marks on the wall with whatever food came that day like a shipwreck survivor.

“Did you practice while you had it?” Rogers asked. You had been brought fresh clothes and new shoes to change into, and he was currently leading you to the showers.

“Yeah, helped me pass the time. It was hard, though. It’s always hard when the ability is powerful.”

“I don’t know how you managed,” he said. “I would have gone nuts.”

You jogged to keep up with him. “Didn’t you stay frozen for like, a hundred years?”

“Seventy years,” he corrected, slowing his pace. “But I wasn’t conscious.”

“That’s fair. If I’m going to be perfectly honest, it was awful.”

“You did good.” He smiled at your sincerity. “Here we are.”

It was a short walk from the training room. The two of you were in a long hallway lined with a few numbered doors on either side. He stood in front of one labeled ’36.’

“Floor three, room six.”

“This doesn’t look like a locker room,” you said, giving Rogers a look.

“Who said we were going to a locker room?” He opened the door for you and you couldn’t help a gasp.

It was a cozy room, spacious yet entirely furnished. There was a dresser, a vanity, a king-sized bed with bedside tables on either side, a flatscreen TV, lamps, and a radio.

“There should be soap and stuff in the bathroom,” Rogers said.

“Do you guys all have rooms like this?” You asked, awed.

“Yeah. You can use the shower here. Well, you can use anything here. If you need help navigating the Facility when you’re ready to leave, just ask someone, they’ll show you out.” He placed a key into your hands. “Just give that back when you’re done.”

You thanked him and he left you to it—you were eager to get under hot water.

It was easily the best shower you had ever taken. The water changed temperature quickly and the pressure was perfect. Days of grime and a lingering acid smell were scrubbed away. The pristine, white towels were a fluffy microfiber and you rubbed your face into one.

_Everything about this is ridiculous. I hate rich people._

Despite that, you pulled up a contact on your phone and dialed.

“What, kiddo?” The voice on the other end said tiredly.

You rolled your eyes at his use of ‘kid.’

“Mr. Stark? If it’s okay, I think I’m going to stay here for a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Wanda is my girlfriend. 2. My love of puns is showing. 3. No, it will not stop.
> 
> I was thinking about something slightly interactive. What if you guys threw superpowers at me to add the the ability pool? Would you enjoy something like that, or is it uncreative cheating on my part? (Don't worry, I have plenty of abilities written down right now along with how I can use them in the plot!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me brainstorming this chapter: alright, asshole. they've moved in. what next
> 
> I would like to say that all of you are destroying me! I might just combine all these comments and print them and look at it whenever I feel down on myself. I would also like to remind everyone that the reader is you! You insert whatever gender and appearance you like!
> 
> I brought this up because I saw some people using "she" in the comments and didn't want boys/nb/others to think that the reader has a canon gender. The only real canon appearance-wise is that they are short. This is one thing I let myself be selfish about, ha ha.
> 
> Do you guys think I should I use proper line breaks, or does it not matter? Would they look nicer?
> 
> Sorry this one's dialogue-heavy!

“Change of heart?”

“Go away.”

Stark was on your heels as you strode through the hallway the next day, leaning over you and looking entirely smug. “To think I assumed you would come once a week,” he mused aloud. “I’m almost proud. We get thirteen for the price of three.”

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” you cautioned. “Wait, have you been counting?”

“Have you not?”

You had been to the facility every day for the last thirteen days. Had it really been only two weeks? It felt like much longer. Perhaps your acid purgatory helped that.

“So, what are your plans for your first day in _Casa Avengers_?” He stood up straight, falling in step beside you.

Normally, you would have told him to mind his own business, but he had dropped his teasing voice and was trying to make genuine conversation. “I’m going to exercise,” you said. “I’ve decided to just now.”

“Really, just now?”

“Exercise helps me blow off steam, so I like to do it regularly when I don’t know what my power is. Helps to prevent _mishaps_.” You emphasized the word and he avoided your glare. “Right now, you’re following me, so I’m going to go wail on a punching bag.”

You didn’t have to look over to see him frown. “Ouch. I don’t believe you, though. You were already walking in that direction when I graced your presence,” he said lightly.

You eyed him, wondering what his motives were. He knew you were still angry at him, so why was he bothering you right now? Was this how he tried to make things up, or was he just too curious for his own good?

When you didn’t say anything, he could only tolerate the silence for about ten seconds. “And after?”

You rolled your eyes. “Probably have a fancy protein shake that is also free, crash in the rec room, and enjoy not having to work retail.” You reached the exercise room and looked at him over your shoulder. “So if you’ll excuse me.”

He left you to take in the exercise room. There were stacks of clean towels on a table by the door. Equipment of all kinds were set up throughout the room along with mats, dumbbells, and things you were entirely unfamiliar with. To your dismay, the room was in use by a handful of people; employees you didn’t know and, running on a treadmill, Wilson.

You grabbed a towel but stayed where you were, not fond of exercising around others. Some of the people glanced at you and you looked between the equipment, pretending you were deciding on what type to use.

Wilson slowed to a stop, hopping off the treadmill with a satisfied breath and wiping the sweat from his brow. He came get a fresh towel, but stopped by you, taking out an earbud. “There’s a room in the back where they do yoga sometimes. It’s empty right now,” he said and winked before heading off for the barbells.

Either he was watching you closely or you were just easy to read. It was good that he did, though, you would have left otherwise. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t figured it out, but you struggled with the thought that letting your guard down could be positive.

You ducked into the yoga room, reminding yourself to thank him later.

-

The rec room was lively—every single Avenger except Stark was there. You entered hesitantly, suspicious.

Romanoff and Barton were playing chess. Vision was conversing with Rhodes by the kitchen, a half-eaten tray of brownies on the counter beside them. Everyone else was watching TV.

Banner was half-asleep on one of the couches, nodding off into a book. He opened one eye when he heard you come in.

“Welcome to our dysfunctional home,” he said in that oft-flat voice of his, but his expression was kind. Tired, but kind. He seemed to always be tired.

“Don’t call it that,” you groused. “I’m not living here permanently.”

“So you’re not sticking around?” Rogers had gotten off the couch to greet you, smiling casually.

“Nah. After I get control of my abilities, I’m going out on my own.”

“Back to retail?” Rogers looked rightfully confused.

“I’m going to steal Stark’s money and travel the world,” you grinned. “This is just a stepping stone for me.”

Romanoff and Barton must have just finished their game, as they both came over as well.

“What will you do if a new one appears, though?” Romanoff asked.

You stood up a little straighter, confident. “The rate of new powers appearing has always been slower than the rate of previous ones appearing. Once I gain control of a lot of them, I’ll be at a statistical advantage. Anything new appears, I’ll figure it out. After all the practice, I’ll be better at reacting quickly to whatever pops up.” You saw Wilson and Wanda coming over as well and stepped back, needing some space.

“Welcome to the Facility!” Wilson said, flashing a smile.

You huffed, frowning. “Does everyone know I moved in?”

“World travels fast in a building full of agents,” Wanda said. “When I first moved in, every single person who works here knew who I was before the second day. Those who live here will try and welcome you, as you may have noticed.”

“Hmm.” You pressed your lips in a thin line. “I guess I’ll just have to bear it.”

“We’re not that bad, are we?” Barton joked. “I even made brownies.”

“From a box mix,” Romanoff clarified. He chuckled, unbothered.

“If you gather people for a one-day anniversary, I’d hate to see what you’ll do in a year,” you grumbled.

“We’ll start off small. When’s your birthday?” Wilson teased.

You pointed at them. “None of you will _ever_ know my birthday.”

All of them hesitated in that manner that suggested they knew something you didn’t. You figured it out fairly quickly.

“My files,” your shoulders slumped. “My files in the database. Stark knows. Which means you all will know.”

“If you don’t want us to know, we won’t snoop,” Rogers said, glancing at the others as if to make sure they’d honor his word.

“I’d say thanks, but that’s basic human decency,” you shot, and a silence fell over the room. Everyone else looked at Rogers, eager to hear how he’d respond.

He was caught off-guard and could definitely feel the other Avengers’ eyes on him. “Ah. Yes. Yes it is.” He scratched the back of his neck as Wilson laughed.

Vision and Rhodes had not approached, but were watching. You were fairly sure Vision—perhaps it was due to the Mind stone—could read your tension around the crowd, and had mentioned it to the other.

You slipped away from the group, going to steal a brownie for yourself.

“Not one for crowds?” Rhodes asked, handing you a paper plate.

“I make exceptions only for concerts,” you said, holding your plate under your brownie to catch crumbs. You took a bite and closed your eyes, savoring it, then looked at Vision. “Can you eat?”

Vision nodded pleasantly. “I can, but it serves no purpose. Edible matter would simply burn up after consumption. It would just be for show.”

“Too bad,” you sympathized. “It’s delicious.”

“Don’t rub it in the man’s face,” Rhodes joked, but Vision was smiling.

“Actually…” you were self-conscious as you addressed the latter. “I have to thank you for coming by the training room.”

“It is quite alright. It took little effort on my part.” His way of speaking was strange, robotic origins showing through in his speech and mannerisms. The statement read awkwardly—like your situation was trivial—but you could tell he was trying to say ‘no problem.’

Rhodes shifted on his feet, leaning against the counter and facing you. “Hey, listen. Stark… I know he’s a handful. I know that ‘handful’ is an understatement. But he’s a good man.”

“You know the word ‘perspective,” Mr. Rhodes?” You crossed your arms. “A person is the sum of what they do, and from what I’ve seen so far, well…” You looked him in the eye. “For the sake of my sanity, let’s hope your perspective wins out, yeah?”

“Man, you really don’t hold back, huh?” He cracked a smile.

“If tact isn’t necessary, I don’t see a reason to be what you aren’t.”

“Yes,” Vision agreed quietly. “Yes, I quite like that.”

For some reason, that embarrassed you, and you stuffed your face with the rest of the brownie to avoid engaging.

Rhodes said “I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t worry about the big guys. Tony, Steve, Banner, what have you.”

“Interesting you’d say that,” you said, taking another brownie. “Considering your suit makes _you_ one of the big guys. At least one of the heaviest, I’d imagine. And with the most artillery.”

“War Machine is pretty impressive, can’t deny that,” he smirked proudly.

“You also say that like Wanda isn’t one of the strongest people on this team. One-on-one, I’m pretty sure she could put down anyone here.”

“Oh, so you’ve been playing Avengers fantasy football?” Rhodes leaned back with a huff.

“I’ve been on a few subreddits,” you grinned. “There are some interesting debates out there.”

“Strange,” Vision said. “I was under the assumption you were avoiding us at the time.”

“Know your enemy,” you said simply.

“Enemy?”

It was difficult to read his expression, but there was just a hint of disappointment that made you feel slightly guilty.

“Not like that! I mean, I never wanted to fight. It’s just… you know…” You fumbled for the right words.

“The more information you have, the better equipped you are,” Rhodes said for you. Of course he would understand, and you were glad for it. The man was military and had flown more missions than you could count.

The Avengers seemed to be made up of three types of people: military or ex-military, secret or former secret agents, and unfortunate bastards.

Had you been a part of the Avengers, you would have placed yourself firmly in the last category.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Vision asked, “but what are you going to do until your next power shows up?”

“If I can’t force anything, then I’ll probably just fulfill the ‘lives in someone’s basement’ life I was destined for.”

“We make our own destinies,” Vision said.

“Ew.” You made a face.

Vision was stumped at that and Rhodes snorted.

“I will admit,” you said to Rhodes, “Stark did make that room solely because of me. Whatever his deal is, well… I can’t avoid the fact that he put in the effort.”

Rhodes looked away from you to hide a smile.

-

Sometimes you measured the passage of time by the changing of your powers. Sometimes you weren’t able to do so—if you couldn’t make your current power manifest and it then changed to another one you also couldn’t manifest, then you would never have known the power changed in the first place.

One day Stark had appeared at your door, toting a fancy notebook.

“What’s this?” You asked as he handed it to you. You flipped through the pages and frowned. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s for you,” he explained. “I thought that you should log your powers.”

You put it back in his hands. “I’m okay.”

“You’re killing me, kid. Keeping track is one way you can predict future changes. I thought you wanted to have _more_ control.”

“Not a kid. I did keep a chart for a while. It got depressing. There’s just no point. The older I get, the worse it gets, and that’s all I really need to know.”

Stark put a hand on his chin. His eyes looked distant, like he was lost in thought. You clapped your hands and he looked to you sharply.

“Don’t do that,” he said, serious tone throwing you off.

“What, gonna give you a heart attack?” You said defensively, covering up that you felt bad.

“I don’t like sudden noises.”

“Sorry.”

Less than a quarter minute of silence passed before Stark picked up the conversation suddenly. Right then, it hit you that silences around others made him uncomfortable. Perhaps even silence when he was alone, but you would never know. You weren’t sure if you wanted to get to know him that well.

“Let me write in it,” Stark said.

“It’s not mine,” you said. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Let me write down your powers. The new ones. If you won’t keep a list, I can—”

You glared at him, but it only made him pushier.

“I get it, I get it, you don’t like records.” He tiptoed around your refusal. “Do it for science,” he encouraged, making a fist to emphasize.

“The advancement of science at the expense of my privacy. I think I can live with that,” you mused sarcastically.

“Please? I’ll be your best friend.”

You scoffed. “What makes you think I want that?”

Stark tried a more serious approach. “I messed up when I pushed you to use your power,” he started. You looked away, angry.

“I… I feel bad, okay?”

“Thank you so much for that,” you interjected sardonically.

“I don’t want it to happen again.”

You fell silent at that, regarding him once more. As much as he was trying to ease his guilt, he also was speaking practically. Kindly. You stared at him hard, tapping your foot and thinking.

“Okay, Stark,” you said. “I’ll write things down. All the statistics, the math—I’m not bothering with that anymore. You can deal with that if you want.”

“Definitely,” Stark agreed.

“Any information is between you and me. You have to ask my permission to share it with anyone else. Understand?”

“Understood,” Stark said.

“Put it in writing and sign it,” you demanded. “I know how you business types work.”

“You got it,” Stark nodded and gave you the notebook once more. “You’re making the right decision. This is for the benefit of mankind.”

“For god’s sake, Stark, it’s just a schedule,” you put a hand on your head, weary of him. “You got what you came for. Go away now.”

“Going away!” Stark said triumphantly and made himself scarce.

You sighed. He was up to something for sure, and you had a nagging suspicion that it went beyond schedules.

-

You were in the rec room the next day, laying back on the couch and busying yourself with your phone.

Romanoff came in and made a beeline for the coffee pot. Once it was brewing she came to stand by the couch you were on.

“This how you spend your non-work hours?” She teased.

“Yeah, yeah, phones make us zombies, whatever.” You paused the video you were watching to be polite.

“Why not just beam that to the TV?”

“Because it’s no one else’s business,” you said.

“I can relate to that,” she smiled. “Should I leave you to it, then?”

“Uh, you’re okay. I don’t mind talking. I mean, I do, sometimes, but…”

“When it’s on your terms?” She offered.

“Yes! Exactly. I don’t mind it too much then.”

“So you can set up a controlled interaction.”

You stuffed your phone into your pocket. “I never really thought about it that way, but yeah, I guess I do. I’ve even made note of escape routes before.” You laughed at yourself, embarrassed.

“You think like an agent.” She was considering you carefully, threading her fingers together. “Have you considered training despite not having an active power?”

“You mean exercising?”

“I mean other skills. Think martial arts.”

“I don’t want to learn to fight,” you said firmly. “I never moved in here with that intention."

“Martial arts is more than just fighting.” She came over to sit and you moved to make room for her. “I’d even say fighting is secondary to the other things you learn. Body awareness. Spatial awareness. Agility. Endurance. Self-defense.”

“And where am I supposed to incorporate this into my life? Go take a class? I’m trying to stay closer to the training room,” you pointed out.

“I’ll teach you.”

You sat up, surprised. “I’m sorry?”

“I can teach you,” she repeated. “Just because you aren’t working with a power right now doesn’t mean you can’t do anything else.”

It made sense, but it was new and she was new and despite her having stuck up for you before, you were still uncertain about the idea. She was a master at her craft—she wasn’t a super soldier, wasn’t enhanced, but was on the Avengers by sheer skill. You weren’t sure you wanted someone like that to see how pathetic you were.

A lot of new things had happened in the past two weeks. You were already this far in—would it really be so bad if you swam out a little further? It wasn’t as if many people had the opportunity to get trained by one of the best secret agents on the planet.

You took a deep breath. “I’ll give it a shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is really difficult to stop Stark from taking up the chapter. Everything about his character screams for attention and it's hard to give others limelight. I need a mental rolled-up newspaper.
> 
> Also, box mix brownies are valid.
> 
> I love reading your comments, so if there was something you liked or if you just want to scream into the abyss, leave one!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TEN CHAPTERS!!! I can't believe it. Thank you all so so so much for your comments. You are all such kind and wonderful souls and I'm just so glad this makes people happy!
> 
> Ten is my lucky/favorite number (could you guess?) and while it's too early to have anything particularly special happen (I was trying to think of something, trust me! But I feel the relationships haven't developed enough) I was thinking you guys could tell me some of your favorite moments from the story so far? I would LOVE to know!!
> 
> Sorry the chapter took a while! Now that I'm getting further into things I have to actually slow down and figure out where I'm going with the plot I've laid out. Don't worry, I have plenty of ideas! It's just about bridging there. Hope it's not too dialogue-heavy! 
> 
> As always, I have no idea what I'm doing! Enjoy!

“You can’t expect to be perfect without having had a moment’s training, can you?” Romanoff said.

“I can and I will,” you half-joked, resetting your position into the basic stance she had shown you.

“Both arms up,” she said, lifting your right elbow so it matched your left. “Turn your hip when you throw a punch. It makes it so your core muscles are behind it as well as your arms.” She demonstrated.

You slowly copied her movements. “This is boxing. I thought we were doing martial arts.”

“Knowledge of multiple fighting styles gives you an edge. Of course, not all styles are appropriate for…” She paused. “My line of work.”

Romanoff didn’t elaborate. As a seasoned agent, she must have had to fight for her life on more than one occasion. Fighting sports had safety rules. There were no rules in killing.

The thought made a chill run down your spine. You were standing next to a killer. No matter her kindness, no matter her desire to protect the world in the Avengers, she had committed the act in her past. You had read the files. And that was a stain on her soul that couldn’t be erased.

You can never go back from a killing.

You lowered your arms. “I don’t know if I want to learn this.”

Romanoff must have known what you were thinking because she wasn’t meeting your eye. “Remember, it’s not about fighting. It’s about body awareness. There’s also the bonus of being able to defend yourself.” When you didn’t respond, her voice softened. “I wouldn’t offer to help if I didn’t think it would help.”

You wished you could think that it wasn’t her fault. But she was in possession of her faculties for many of her missions, and she made the choice. It was her fault. She knew it was.

Reading the released files, you had always been especially intimidated by the Black Widow. Aside from her morally dubious past, she also didn’t need powers to be an Avenger. And yet, from the moment you met her, she was pleasant. Easygoing.

You liked having her around, you realized.

“You’re right,” you said. “Sorry.”

Romanoff only smiled. “No need to apologize. Arms up.”

-

Your power hadn’t shown up in over a week, and so you spent your time learning from Romanoff and lazing about in your room. You had grown more comfortable in the Facility and started exploring it. A lot of areas had security clearances. The other agents and employees either payed you no mind or greeted you briefly as they went about their work. Only a few actually stopped to talk, interested in the new presence in the Facility. When you let slip to two scientists that you hadn’t gone to college, they encouraged you to go into their respective fields, then actually started arguing whose was better.

You had more social interaction in the last month than you had all year, outside of work. It was rejuvenating, being talked to like a real person.

The Avengers were in and out of the place, sometimes showing up to the rec room in groups, mostly going about their business alone. Your room had all the creature comforts you needed to get by, but you forced yourself to go out of your room at least once or twice a day. The rec room became your go-to when you didn’t feel like wandering, especially when you wanted to avoid the work rush. Only a few people would ever be in the rec room at a time, if any. At first you preferred it when you were the only one there, but after a while, you started to enjoy the background noise and conversation when others were in.

You were in your room, however, when a rapid, annoying knock sounded at your door. You paused your game and inwardly groaned, already knowing who it was.

“What do you want, Stark?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“I thought I’d bring you a souvenir from your stay at the Boom Room,” Stark said, holding up one of your old shoes. It was warped and burned from where it had been melted by you acid-sweating feet.

“Seriously? Why would I want a reminder of—wait, where’s the other one?” You eyes narrowed. “You’re studying it, aren’t you?”

“Just a little.”

“I don’t recall giving that to you,” you said with a glare.

“You discarded them. You _littered_ ,” he accused. “I’m not fining you out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Stark, why are you here?”

He shifted, lacing his fingers together, looking around like he was trying to figure out how to put the words together. You tensed in anticipation of whatever frustrating thing would come out of his mouth.

“Okay,” he started. “The properties of the acid were somewhat abnormal.”

It wasn’t what you expected. In fact, it gained your interest almost immediately. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever you excreted, it’s too acidic to harbor DNA. But it does.”

You didn’t know how to respond. It surprised you, but didn’t _surprise_ you. You hadn’t expected it, but it was just another thing in the growing list of things that shouldn’t have been possible for you.

“Okay,” you said finally, disappointed that was all. “Any other dire information I need to know about?” You knew he wouldn’t come all the way to your room, in person, unless he really wanted something from you.

“Have you been writing down—”

“Yes, Stark.”

“Can I see—”

“Yes! Geez.” You retrieved your notebook. Every power that you could remember ever having used was listed there, as well as a day-to-day record. After the most recent entry—acid, 4 days—there was a blank with n/a scrawled in.

“Telekinesis, explosions, barriers, explosions, acid… what’s this? Not applicable?”

“No appearance,” you explained. “For all we know, I could have had five powers go by since the acid.”

“That makes things difficult data-wise,” Stark said, pressing his watch screen. A green laser (was it a laser?) scanned the page of your notebook. He didn’t leave, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Stark?”

“You know what _would_ help data-wise?” He started cautiously, “a blood sample.”

“Go away.”

“I want to help you,” Stark pleaded.

“I believe you,” you snapped. “But you’re also doing this to satisfy your own curiosity. I can’t ignore that as a factor.”

Stark sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. “Is that such a bad thing?”

His changes in tone could be subtle sometimes. He still kept his demeanor, but you could sense the tiredness behind it. You considered his words for a minute. No, it wasn’t a bad thing, not inherently. But while he would help you, he would get something out of it, and that bothered you in a way you couldn’t explain. Not to mention you delighted in holding this over his head. It was a power trip, having _the_ Tony Stark, genius billionaire, begging at your feet for something he couldn’t have.

“The answer is no,” you said.

“I only need one drop. Just a prick,” he tried.

“You’re already a prick. Just give up, Stark.”

Stark’s face fell and his patience wore down. He sounded defeated when he said, “Don’t you want to know more?”

“Of course I do,” you said. “But I can live without knowing more. Giving blood doesn’t bother me. I just don’t want _you_ to have it.”

“Seriously?” Stark’s frustration was becoming evident as his humor dissolved. “You’re being childish. You’re doing a disservice to yourself just to spite me?”

“Yes. Go away, Stark.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, nodded once at you, then walked away without another word.

You stuck your head out the door, shouting at his back. “Stark!”

He turned around.

“Put a jacuzzi in my room and I’ll consider it,” you said sarcastically.

He didn’t respond. You took it as a win.

-

“You can’t learn anything without a mastery of the basics.”

You were practicing with Romanoff. She eased you into things during the first few sessions, but was ramping up the intensity as you went on. You kept working on basics, but the workouts and stretches were grueling. You were doing a bent-over row with dumbbells when you felt the weight of them rest entirely on your fingers. You went to re-adjust your grip, but your hands closed around nothing. You glanced down, saw the unnatural curve of your fingers, and jumped back just in time to avoid chunks of dumbbell falling on your feet.

You and Romanoff stared at your hands. Your fingers were longer, triangular instead of round, the fronts long and knifelike. The tips of your fingers came to a sharp, bladed point. It was hideous, flesh misshapen, skin paper-thin over the blades but never splitting open.

“Oh god,” you said, turning your back to Romanoff so she couldn’t see.

“You okay?” She asked uncertainly.

“Fine. Can you get me a towel? Something to cover my hands so I can get to my room.”

Romanoff looked at what was left of the dumbbells. “Are you sure a towel will work?” She said dryly.

“I don’t know what to do! This has never happened in public.” You looked over your shoulder pathetically.

“How about you practice instead of panicking? We still have time,” she said. “I promise I won’t freak out.”

“I won’t hold you to that,” you grumbled, but turned around.

Romanoff looked curious but not bothered. “Should I make an Edward Scissorhands joke?”

“You should not make an Edward Scissorhands joke.”

The two of you sat down, you resting the back of your hands on your knees.

“Does visualizing things help?” Romanoff asked. “Wanda’s mentioned something like that before when she tried to explain her power once.”

“When I have psychic abilities, it can. I’ve never tried with an actual part of my body.” You wiggled your claws. “It would be more fun if they weren’t stupidly sharp.”

“Then try.”

“Try what? What can you even do with this?” You held your claws up.

“Think flat thoughts?” She offered.

You bit back a laugh, but she noticed your smile.

“Alright, Miss Romanoff.” You looked at your claws and imagined they were dull, bringing the image to the forefront of your thoughts. You tried to put yourself in the same mindset as when you made barriers, but instead of changing a projection of energy, you focused on changing the energy in your hands.

“Anything happen?” You asked, opening one eye to look.

“I can’t tell.”

You scratched the floor, but it made no mark (of course it wouldn’t; the room withstood explosions.) You ran a claw down the back of your hand. Nothing happened for a moment, but then you saw beads of blood sprout in a line. “Too sharp to hurt, so that didn’t work,” you commented.

“Why would you test it that way?” Romanoff said incredulously.

“These are new shoes.”

“That’s your skin.”

“Shoes and clothes have to be bought. Flesh heals for free,” you shrugged.

Romanoff had a moment to herself to process the difference in your priorities.

“You don’t really have to worry about… oh, never mind.” She motioned to your hands. “Come on, keep trying.”

-

The cut was so thin, it healed before you finished training. Romanoff stayed with you an hour later than planned, being moral support and conversation as you practiced. You were exhausted from the session, physically and mentally, but the extra time had payed off: you could force your hands back into their regular shape. It took a constant effort, but was not as tiring as something more powerful. You would have to sleep carefully, though.

You opened the bathroom door to see that your bathroom had been entirely remodeled: it was twice as large (did they take down a wall?) and indeed, a brand-new, sparkling jacuzzi sat in the corner.

After your shower, you hunted Stark, finding him in the rec room with a few others.

“Ah! You’ve seen the new addition I made,” said Stark happily. “You’ve got to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Like hell!” You shot.

“Hey, you said you’d consider it if I put a jacuzzi in your room.”

“I was _joking!_ ” You wanted to pull out your hair. “How did you take that seriously?”

“How was I supposed to tell?” He said blankly.

“You cheated!” You accused, pointing a finger.

“ _You_ cheated!” He said, a glint in his eye. “You lied.”

“Alright, kids, that’s enough,” Rhodes shouted in a fake dad-voice. “Honestly, Tony. What are you talking about?”

You looked at the others: Banner and Rogers. Perfect.

“Stark is trying to pressure me to give a blood sample,” you said pathetically, trying to look helpless while making eye contact with Rogers.

It was too easy. The man stood right up off the couch without another word. You gave Stark a sly smile.

“Hey! They’re setting me up!” Stark cried. “I did not pressure them! Hey, hey, sit down, big man.”

Rogers hesitated, watching you. You frowned and made big eyes at him. He sighed and shook his head.

“I’m not dealing with this. Tony, don’t pressure people into medical procedures.”

“Yeah, Stark,” you echoed. “Don’t infringe on my rights of consent.”

The aforementioned huffed and flopped into a couch dramatically. Rhodes patted his shoulder.

Banner was asleep with a book on his face and Rogers went back to flipping channels. “There are too many channels,” he complained. “I don’t understand why there are so many channels.”

“Neither do I,” you said, sliding into the seat next to him. “Pretty sure one-third are 24-hour infomercials and the another third is… well… for lonely people,” you said.

“You can say porn,” Stark said loudly, and you out a hand on your head in exasperation.

“God’s sake, Tony,” Rogers rubbed his face. He settled on an old cartoon and sat back.

There was little conflict after that (aside from some harmless gripes between you and Stark) and before you knew it, Rogers was nudging you awake. You jumped, quickly looking at your hands. The claws were back, but they rested in your lap, cutting nothing.

“Oh thank god,” you said, relieved, but it brought Rogers’ attention to your hands and he flinched in surprise.

“It’s another one of my pow—oh, that’s obvious,” you said. “My fingers are very sharp. That’s pretty much it.”

Stark made a beeline toward you, but stopped at the couch Banner was sleeping on. He picked up his book and let it drop back on Banner’s face in order to wake him. “Doc. B, check it out.”

The others converged on you out of curiosity and you hunched over your hands.

“Stop that. I’m not a freak show.” You forced your claws to revert, but it only made them lean in further in amazement of the change. “Guys.”

There were murmurs of “sorry” as they gave you space.

“How long was I asleep?” You yawned, standing up.

“Not long. It’s just late,” Rogers said.

Stark and Rhodes stayed. The rest of you walked together to your rooms. As it turned out, the third floor was where most of them lived, and the other rooms in the hallway yours was in contained other Avengers. You only found this out when you ran into Wanda on the third day.

“If Tony is bothering you,” Rogers said as you walked, “let me know. Really, you don’t have to endure it.”

“They do as long as they live here,” Banner said dryly.

“I’m okay,” you stuck your hands in your pockets. “He can’t force me to do anything. I’d give _you_ a blood sample, though, Dr. Banner.”

“Thanks?” He said. “I’m as interested as anyone, but Stark, somehow, has less self-control than I do.”

It made sense to you. Banner, like you, had to practice self-control for everyone’s sake. On the other hand, there was nothing holding Stark back.

You split off from them to your room. “Hey, Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers? Thanks for having my back,” you said, looking away to hide your bashfulness. “It’s appreciated.”

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Banner said.

“Any time,” Rogers said. He started toward his room, but paused and turned back around. “Also, it’s Steve.”

You closed the door instead of responding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I typed "What are you on about?" instead of "What are you talking about?” for Rhodes. I'm subscribed to a few British youtubers and it's bleeding into my writing?
> 
> Would it be vain to list my favorite moments from the story?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dogsitting right now and the poor dogs are used to going to sleep at their owner's 9-5 schedule, and here I am at ass o clock in the morning confusing the shit out of them.
> 
> This chapter's a short one, sorry!
> 
> Regardless, enjoy!

Your woke up to a shredded bed. There were deep gouges going through the mattress and into the frame. Fabric and cotton littered the ground. There was fluff in your hair from a ripped-open pillow.

_God damn it._

You forced your claws to revert so you could rub your face. There wasn’t much you could do about this; your claws were too sharp to wear any sort of glove, and you couldn’t just sleep with your hands in a steel box. You’d have to ride this one out.

The rec room was empty, so you let your claws show. It was rapidly getting annoying to keep switching back and forth, but at least it wasn’t difficult.

 _This is it! The most useless power. I’m going to chop vegetables so fucking fast._ You paused. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Some dishes took forever to make because of the prep work, but you could bypass it and be lazy. It would be nice to make a proper dinner for yourself.

You searched for recipes on your phone while you ate breakfast. When you stuck your head in the fridge, you found it close to empty—must have not been stocked in a while; you’d have to run to the store. It was a good opportunity to get out of the house, so to speak. Not to mention the conditions were perfect—you knew what your power was, it was easy to control, and you’d only had it for a day, so your odds were good that it would last.

The quiet bustle of the grocery store made you feel normal, something you always sought but especially needed since moving into the New Avengers Facility. You missed the old farmer’s market, though you’d never be able to divorce it from the memory of finding Rogers. The image still made your stomach churn, but you comforted yourself with the idea of looking for new ones in the area.

You were putting groceries away when you realized you forgot onions. You cursed and berated yourself for your forgetfulness. The drive to the store was short, but it was a pain to walk across the compound to the employee parking and back. Then again, since you wouldn’t be lugging groceries, you could always walk there. The store was less than an hour away on foot and it was nice out.

The sun warmed your skin and the breeze was cool. You daydreamed as you watched people pass by, thinking how they wouldn’t know how lucky they were, just to be able to exist around others fearlessly every single day. For you it was a privilege dictated entirely by chance.

You were knocked out of your thoughts when you bumped into someone’s shoulder. The both of you turned to apologize, but you were surprised to see Wilson.

“Oh! Hey, man, what’s up?” He flashed a brilliant smiled.

“Wilson! You surprised me,” you said. “I’m going to the store. What about you?”

“Food Truck Friday,” he jerked his thumb behind him. “A few blocks down in the parking lot next to the park. Ever had the Burrito Bus?”

“No, and that’s a terrible name.”

“That’s what I always say,” he laughed. “No creativity, but their burritos are bomb. Wanna come with?”

You hung out around the Avengers plenty of times before, but never outside of the Facility. While you were adjusted to their presence, you had never been invited to anything, and that made you nervous. “I’m not sure,” you admitted. “Also, I need to get onions.”

“We can get them on the way back,” he said. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Aw, come on. I’ll look like a loser if I go by myself.”

His big grin made you chuckle. “I guess we can’t have that.”

“Awesome.” He pointed out the way and the two of you started walking. “In exchange, burrito’s on me. How’s that sound?”

“Broke person rule of thumb,” you held up a finger, “never turn down free food.”

“You don’t count as broke anymore,” Wilson pointed out.

“I never turn down free food in general.”

“Good policy,” he snorted. “How’s your training going?”

“With Romanoff? Painful.”

He laughed. “It’s supposed to be. You can’t build up without breaking down first.”

“You’re completely right, but I still hate it.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” Wilson said. “Runner’s high.”

“I’m too sore to love,” you said.

The lot next to the park was lined with food trucks of various shapes and colors and indie slogans. Lines were formed at most of them, but the longest line was at the Burrito Bus, which was promising.

You looked between the line and Wilson. He had to wear a hat and sunglasses to go out in public. All the Avengers did. Seeing them in casual clothes was something you slowly got used to during your stay. In the majority of footage that was released to the public, the Avengers were in uniform. Seeing them in their day-to-day wear separated them from the powerful, imposing image seen by the general public.

You looked at Wilson and mentally pictured him wearing the EXO-7 Falcon. Your stomach churned again and you wished desperately that your first encounter wasn’t with him wearing that jet pack. Up close, it only brought back a memory of fear.

“Hey, Wilson?” You looked up at him as you both crossed the parking lot. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“How do you deal with seeing gore all the time?”

He stopped walking, staying out of earshot of the crowd. “I don’t see it _all the time_ ,” he said, regarding you carefully and lowering his voice. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m great,” you said out of reflex. “Just morbid curiosity.”

Wilson likely didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push the issue, either. “You have to live with what you see. There’s no other alternative. So we learn to cope, we develop strategies for dealing with the trauma. All we can do is keep going forward.”

“Strategic handling of traumas,” you stated.

“That’s basically what being a therapist is.”

“You’re a therapist?” You asked, the two of you joining the line.

“Yep! I run group therapy for the VA,” he said proudly.

You never would have expected it, not from an Avenger. “Well, hell. Color me impressed, Wilson.”

“Thanks. It’s good to feel appreciated,” he grinned.

“I always wondered why you were so nice to me,” you said jokingly.

He didn’t laugh, just smiled. “Gotta stop talking that way, man. What do you want on your burrito?”

-

Benches were set up near the food trucks. You and Wilson sat and talked as you ate. It wasn’t the best food for conversation—the Burrito Bus was as messy as it was delicious. Both of you had food around your mouth and on your hands. It was hard to be self-conscious when you were both a mess, which let you relax.

“I’m curious,” Wilson said, “You had said you wanted to travel. Where will you go first?”

“D.C.,” you said. “I’ll probably go soon.”

“Boring,” he teased. “I thought you were going to wait. Feeling like all the practice helps?”

“Yeah. I’m way more confident that I can handle a short trip,” you nodded. “I wouldn’t have even left my room a month ago.”

“So what draws you to D.C.?” Wilson asked.

“The Smithsonian,” you said longingly. “I’ve always wanted to go. I like museums. Never been to a single one.”

Wilson made a disapproving noise. “That’s no way to raise a child. Your family not big on vacations?”

“Oh, they’ve gone before.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” You gave him a sharp look. “You’re a smart man, Wilson. You know what happened. I’m dangerous.”

Realization dawned on him, his mouth parting. “They left you behind.”

You reached to grab a stack of napkins, nonchalant. “It’s not fair if I hold everyone back.”

“They shouldn’t have done that,” he asserted.

You smiled thinly. “It was the right thing to do. What would happen if something manifested at seventy miles per hour on the highway? What would happen if something manifested in the middle of a flight?”

“They should have stayed.”

“What do you know?” You said, bothered by the criticism. “So you expect them to go eighteen years without a vacation? Never take my sib out to see the world?”

“You deserve to see the world too,” he said. “I understand that it was a difficult choice for your parents to make, and that there’s not a black or white answer to the situation. But they hurt you.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” you shrugged, looking away. “I’m glad they had fun. I really am.”

Wilson nodded. “They’re lucky to have y—”

“I just remembered I have to get onions!” You stood abruptly, nearly knocking over your chair in the process.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like these onions are serious business.”

“There’s no dinner without them,” you said awkwardly, trying to save face. “I just want to get back soon.”

He gave a sly grin. “I won’t tell Tony you said that.”

Your face grew hot when you realized what you had said. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I just want to avoid the crowds.”

“Yes,” Wilson said, looking around the sparsely filled lot. “Crowds.”

“Let’s just go,” you said. He didn’t tease you further, but out of the corner of your eye you could see him holding back a grin.

While you planned to just get the stupid onions, Wilson insisted on filling the rec room pantries with pop-tarts (“The cookie dough ones are the best”) and an unhealthy amount of Cocoa Pebbles. Both of you were browsing shelves opposite from each other, taking up a bit too much space in the narrow aisle. Admittedly, you weren’t paying attention when the woman came by you, but rather than say ‘excuse me’ she instead slipped past, her arm grazing yours.

You would have been offended by the rudeness, but the moment she made contact, a jolt went through your body. The grocery store disappeared around you and instead, a reel of images passed before your eyes. A little girl playing tag at recess. A room full of students scribbling away at notebooks. A Ferris wheel. A broken leg. The figure of a woman you didn’t know but made your heart cry _mom_.

No, not your heart. The woman who passed you. A lifetime of memories surged into your brain within the second of contact you had. She had kept walking unawares, but your body sagged and you grabbed at the shelves, knocking over a bunch of cereal boxes.

Wilson was at your side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” you said, gritting your teeth at the pain in your temples. “I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“Can I help you up?”

While none of the Avengers generally made physical contact with you in day-to-day interactions, those that did quickly found you didn’t like to be touched. Wilson was one of the only ones who asked before he touched you.

“Absolutely not!” You almost shouted, but closed your eyes and lowered your voice. “Absolutely not.” You pulled yourself up with a groan. ““My power just changed. I need you to keep other people from touching me. I have to get out of here.” You crouched down and started picking up the boxes.

“That’s very kind of you to do, but I thought you said you have to leave," Wilson said, looking over his shoulder to check for people.

“I will fistfight you over this, Wilson, do not test me. It’ll just be a second.”

Wilson led you out of the store after you finished, standing a few feet in front of you like a shield. He had said something about going to his car, but it didn’t register, you just stared at his back. You were back in that field months ago, bloody, terrified, and sticking to his heels as he escorted you to your car.

Now he was escorting you to _his_ car. There was something ironic about it all, and you sputtered a laugh that made you look unstable.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wilson asked, which made you laugh harder.

“Not at all.”

You made it to his car and lay across the backseat, breathing heavily. “Wilson, as a therapist, you listen to peoples’ woes and I will give you another one right now: This sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly.

The rest of the ride was spent with you explaining your current power and him trying to cheer you up.

The rec room was populated by the entire Avengers ensemble. You stepped inside to drop the stupid onions on the counter and then turned to Wilson. “Okay, Mr. Wilson, looks like I’m going to my room until the storm blows over.”

“Oh, yuck, don’t call me that,” he made a face. “You make me feel old.”

“Just let them know for me,” you said, seeing a few people heading over to greet the two of you. “Gotta go.”

You reached for the door right as Vision phased through it. You jumped, stumbled back, and lost your footing.

The first thought that went through your mind was that the floor was hardwood. The second thought that went through your mind was that you must have looked like an idiot.

You never reached the third one as Vision caught you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onions, man.
> 
> The park near my place has an electronic sign with various news of upcoming events, and the past week it has been promoting some food trucks that are going to stop by.
> 
> Did you know Ferris wheel is supposed to be spelled with a capital F?
> 
> Please feed me comments! This bitch empty!
> 
> bonus:  
> 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are BREAKING me with your comments. I don't know how to react. I've never gotten attention like this before and if I sound repetitive in my replies it's because I mean it all! To everyone! You guys really keep me going. I love that I can share this adventure with you!
> 
> Enjoy!

Trillions.

More than trillions.

A number incomprehensible to people. A number on a scale seen nowhere but out in the stars.

Your hadn’t yet made it to the halfway point in your life, and yet, all your experiences, everything you had ever felt, it could fill books upon books upon books. And you were one in over seven billion on your planet alone. In the universe, just in that very moment, at that very second, you felt them.

Trillions. Trillions of minds. Trillions of memories. Trillions of stories.

In an instant, a current of raw energy pulsed through you, your body stiffening like a hose filling with water. The vast pressure pushed from the inside out, making it feel like your skin would burst. You were blind and deaf and the world as you knew it was gone. In its place, a stream of lifetimes shot through you in light-years, physically impossible to see but registering in your brain anyway. It felt like an electrocution. It felt like you were on fire. You weren’t aware of your physical body anymore, trapped in the expanse of a cosmic power that only the oldest of entities could even begin to understand. A fragment of existence forced itself through the pitiful conduit that was your body, rapidly overloading like high voltage frying a circuit. At the same time, you felt life. Your present self was peeled away and you were standing in places you’ve never been to.

An eternity of images. An eternity of lifetimes.

People. Families. Those without, those who were abandoned. Joy, pain, suffering, love. So much suffering. So much love. Children growing. Generations passing in the blink of an eye. History told from millions of sets of eyes. Legacies lost and found.

Everyone and anyone who could think. You were there. You were _there_.

So many things were falling into place. It made sense now.

Everything plunged backward. The most basic of thought, the reptile brain, the simplest of feelings and thoughts. Hunger, anger, lust, happiness.

Then everything plunged forward.

You looked out through multiple lenses, bodiless, information flowing through your metal synapses. You felt a simple conscious and watched a man with a blue circle in his chest write a program. You blinked for the first time at a world you could before never move through on your own. You felt complex sensations and emotions the likes you could never have dreamed of.

Suddenly you were in a vast emptiness, devoid of light. There was no sound. No sense of touch. You couldn’t feel your tongue in your mouth. You couldn’t feel yourself breath. Out of nothing, six bright lights bloomed, so blinding that you couldn’t see the faint lines of color dancing on the edges of the beams for more than a split second.

Then you were standing on the edge of the universe, looking into eternity.

Far away, impossibly far, your mind was somewhere inside your body, and in the back of it was a primitive awareness that you were dying.

-

The moment Vision had touched you, your body seized and your head rolled back. Burning yellow light shot from your eyes and mouth in three beams, bright as a small sun, and an earsplitting scream erupted from your throat.

Vision, in the momentary connection, instantly knew to break contact and he lay your screaming body on the floor. As soon as he let go, the lights faded from your eyes and your screaming stopped, but your body was jerking violently, foaming at the mouth, your eyes open but no awareness behind them. Blood ran from your nose and ears.

The entire room leapt to your aid, but Vision blocked them off. “Don’t touch them. You’ll only make it worse!”

“It can’t _get_ any worse,” Tony said shortly, pushing past Vision to turn you onto your side. “Bruce, call ahead and let medical know we’re coming. Steve, get them there as soon as possible. Go!”

Steve lifted you effortlessly over his shoulder and ran.

-

A blue glow emanated from your chest as you typed out a program. Burying yourself in work always gave you a much-needed distraction. It was better than the bottle, at least—

Your back hit the hard ground and pain bloomed from your jaw. The man standing above you cracked his knuckles. You stood anyway.

You were beside your mother’s bed, holding her cold hand. Her telling you she was going to meet your father. And then you were the only one left.

A best friend. Your only friend.

Determination. Chasing enlistment. An old man with a proposal. A machine with a seat to lie on. The old man explaining what would happen to you. The terror as he counted down. Needles in your skin and the machine doors closing you in. Pain. Persistence.

Another loss. Watching the only one you had left fall from a cliff. Piloting a plane into a nosedive, talking to the woman who ha loved you before you were extraordinary, silently making peace with your death.

Awakening into a nightmare. You thought you lost everyone. But now you had lost your very own _time_.

And then, you found him again, a remnant and a hope.

And then you were flung back into nothingness.

-

Eternity was plenty of time to think. You thought deeply. You contemplated. There was a dim awareness of activity, you didn’t know what, just that it was there. Wherever “there” was.

Your senses were completely numb, yet you could feel the activity coming and going. A presence buzzing around in your awareness like a fly in a house—around for periods of time, then disappearing entirely. In those times, times of total nothingness, you were able to sleep deeply and dreamlessly.

There was an itch on your head. You went to scratch it and felt something stiff under your fingers.

Your eyes opened.

Wherever you were, the lights in the room were dim. Something—many things—were attached to your head, wires hanging down in your sight. If you tugged on it, it pulled on your scalp.

That familiar overexertion headache was throbbing, but you could function.

You sat up proper and took in your surroundings. The bed beneath you was comfortable and the blanket was plush. There were machines—some looked like they had a medical purpose, some were completely foreign—all around the room, concentrated by the bed. A flatscreen television was mounted on the opposite wall. The design of the room was sleek; you understood then that you were at the New Avengers Facility.

You looked for a clock, but nothing was in your immediate vision. Was the room dark because it was nighttime, or because you were out? Regardless, you weren’t sleepy. There was a table beside the bed with a water bottle, a cup, and the remote to the TV. You found controls for raising the top half of the bed and went to see if Stark had hospital cable.

Not five minutes in, the door swung open and Banner walked in, flipping on the lights. He gave one of his tired smiles upon seeing you awake.

“Hi,” you said.

“Glad to see you made it,” he said.

The door slammed open again, Stark running to one of the machines and analyzing the screen.

“Hi,” you said.

“Good evening. Or should I say morning?” Stark replied, eyes fixed on the screen. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I would if there was a clock immediately visible.”

Stark reached out and pressed a button on your table without looking. A panel flipped up and projected an image of a digital clock, right down to the seconds.

“Why are you here at four in the morning?” You asked.

“Because you woke up,” Banner said.

“Duh,” Stark added.

“Why not wait until—”

“We thought you would be comatose,” Stark snapped. “It hasn’t been long enough to declare a coma, but you were entirely unresponsive.”

“Yeah, show some gratitude,” Banner joked, winking at you.

You laughed. “So how long?”

“Fifty hours,” Banner said. “How do you feel?”

You considered the question, finger at your lower lip. Headache aside, you felt fine physically, if not a little sore. Mentally was harder to figure out. Already, the most of what you’d seen was forgotten and more was steadily fading. There were images that would stay with you forever, but the glimpse into the universe was just that, a glimpse. The connection was gone and the stories drained away, leaving you with the memory of the experience sitting heavy in your bones.

“Humble,” you said finally. Both scientists looked at you, then at each other. You wondered what they had seen, what the machines around you were telling them.

“So, hey, why am I hospital Medusa?” you said, tugging at an electrode on your head.

Stark slapped your hand away. “Bad.”

“Don’t touch me,” you said on reflex, but found you weren’t angry.

Stark turned one of the monitors to face you. It had a bunch of squiggly waves going across it. “We did an inpatient EEG. Measures brain waves.” He gave you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, kid. I know you didn’t want any sort of procedure done, but we had to.”

“I think I can give saving my life a pass,” you said, leaning to look at the EEG reading. “Also, I’m not a kid. Find anything fun?”

“You could say that.”

Right then, Vision phased through the door. Stark saw you look over his shoulder and turned around.

“I sensed you woke,” Vision said softly.

“How?” You asked.

“The computers.” Right, he was able to integrate with more complicated tech. Maybe not the machines themselves, but at least the computers the results were recorded onto.

“Okay, now that we’ve got three in here, do I get to know what happened?”

“You tell me,” Banner said, looking at a printout. “One second you’re standing, next thing we know, you’re on the ground.”

“It was a little more dramatic then that,” Stark said, wry.

“We don’t currently know much,” Banner said. “Before you returned with Sam, you had gained the ability to connect to someone’s mind, through touch. Then you touched Vision. Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” you said.

“Can you remember what happened from there?”

You frowned. “I… I don’t know. I saw… I saw a lot of things.”

Stark opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but Banner raised a hand, anticipating him. “Go on,” he said.

“There was… bright light. People. A lot of people. Aliens, too. Living beings.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” You looked at Vision. “I saw everyone. I remember none of them. I just know that I saw them, and felt them, and… knew them.” You were surprised to feel your eyes well up with tears, running down your cheeks when you blinked.

“The Mind Stone,” Vision said, touching his forehead lightly.

“What does it do?” You asked, wiping your eyes on your arm.

“It is the Infinity Stone that governs the mind. While all the stones hold great powers, the Mind Stone’s primary behavior is that it connects all minds,” Vision said. “For you to withstand it at all is a miracle. If we were in contact a moment longer, you surely would have died.”

“That explains the headache,” you said dryly. “When can I go? I’m starving.”

“Let me get a few more hours of reads,” Stark said. “I want to monitor you now that you’re awake.”

“What if I go back to sleep?” You teased, making Stark roll his eyes.

“Then sleep. But I’m going to get five hours of reads while you’re awake at some point or another, so you choose how long you wanna wait.”

“Then why make me wait six hours?”

“One to grow on,” Stark said. “I’ll have someone bring breakfast.”

-

Around eight, there was a knock on the door. You saw a flash of red hair.

“Come in,” you said, smiling as Wanda entered. “Miss me?”

She returned your smile. “Just a little.”

“I bet you were worried,” you said smugly.

She laughed. “Yes. Everyone is.”

“Everyone?” your smile fell.

“Everyone.”

“I just passed out,” you argued. The thought of being concerned over was stressful and you weren’t sure why.

“You did more than pass out,” Wanda frowned. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“Tell me. No, wait—show me! You can do that, right?”

Wanda nodded slowly. “I can, but I think now’s not a good time. Maybe later.”

“Stark will get upset if I mess up the reads two hours before time’s up,” you agreed.

Wanda sat down, looking hesitant. “I have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” You leaned forward a little.

“Everyone will be here in the afternoon,” she broke it to you slowly. “They’re going to be curious.”

You slammed your head back into the soft pillow. “As if seeing me trip wasn’t enough.”

“Are you still uncomfortable?” Wanda tilted her head at you. “I’ve seen you around others; you always seem fine. But when everyone’s together, you get nervous.”

“I just don’t like attention on me.”

“Well, you’re definitely gonna have to go through that later today,” Wanda admitted. “But I’ll be there.”

“You’ll _all_ be there.”

“I’ll have your back,” she explained, then became indignant when she saw you snicker. “Oh, you think you’re so funny! Even like this.”

“Like what? I’m completely fine.” You wiggled your fingers and toes. “No pain.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said flatly, and you both laughed.

-

Of course, you had to repeat your story in front of everyone. All sets of eyes were trained on you as you attempted to recount the unexplainable experience, gesturing and trailing off in the middle of sentences and generally making a fool of yourself. You told them as much as you could, and then demanded their side.

Part of you wished you hadn’t. You would have to take back what you asked of Wanda.

The issue now was what to do with your new power. Clothes didn’t protect you or others—that woman was wearing long sleeves when she had brushed past you. It must have been a proximity thing, a trigger activating just centimeters away from your skin. And you couldn’t just practice on others.

“The connection doesn’t leave much unseen,” you explained. “I can’t read thoughts, but I see experiences and feelings. It’s highly personal, private. I can’t practice without consent of the other, and I don’t even know if I want to. Especially after what just happened.”

“And later? When you heal up?” Barton asked.

“Not even then,” you said. “It’s private. Intimate. I don’t want to see it. Also, I think Vision fried my brain. Who knows if I can even do it again?”

Vision looked guilty and you immediately regretted the statement. “It’s okay! You didn’t know! I was joking,” you said quickly. “Really. I’m not mad.”

Vision offered a small, unconvinced smile. “Thank you.”

“If you don’t practice, it’ll only be worse when it happens again, remember?” Romanoff said.

“But not now,” Steve said. “You need to rest.”

“I’m not trying again. It’s too intense,” you insisted.

All of them looked thoughtful, but Wanda especially so.

Vision noticed it as well. “What are you thinking, Wanda?”

“I have an idea,” she said. “But Steve’s right. Later.”

At your nervous expression, Rhodes chimed in, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

“We’ll see,” you said. “For now, I just want normalcy. I want nothing to happen. Just for a few days. A week. Hell, I’ll take as long as I can get.”

Everyone had a look of understanding in some form. None of them would ever have normalcy. That was something you all shared, an inescapable fact of being more than human or being affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D.. In the beginning, you distanced yourself, resenting any enhanced person who put themselves out there. Now you understood your ignorance. You and the others were alike, and you had hated them for it. No, that wasn’t it. You had hated them for being like you and being able to be _out_ in the world.

Banner spoke up. “We gathered a lot of data while you were asleep and are currently developing something. I’d like to show you if you don’t mind stopping by the lab later.”

You gave Stark a sly grin. “Security clearance?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you a pass,” Stark said. “Appointment only. No walk-ins.”

“You can walk in,” Banner assured, ignoring Stark’s look. “We’ll be there most of the night.”

“That interesting, huh?” You said.

Stark grinned. “Oh, kid, you have _no_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to describe how I visualized the ordeal.
> 
> I watched Captain America: The First Avenger before fleshing out this chapter, which was a good idea. I forget things pretty easily so a refresher was helpful!
> 
> Comments are the tips of the writing world and I would LOVE to know what you thought!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fucking excited for chapter 15, my dudes.
> 
> Please enjoy!

You had fallen asleep within minutes of getting into your room and slept through the night. You awoke to a series of texts, all from one person, all saying the same thing:

 _Flake._  
_Flake._  
_Flake._  
_Flake._

The texts went on like that, making you roll your eyes. Stark, of course. You’d have to steel yourself up when you saw him next, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bug you over the no-show.

Banner and Stark likely wouldn’t be at the lab at this time, but you decided to chance it anyway. An entire section of the building was devoted to the sciences. You held your pass in front of the scanner on the big double doors and felt very cool when the panel read _Entry Accepted_. An employee inside was looked surprised to see you, but you flashed your pass (again, feeling very cool) and kept going.

The lab itself was one of multiple in the building and you realized you didn’t know where the two scientists were actually working. You returned to the entrance to ask for directions, feeling considerably less cool.

Your jaw dropped upon entering the huge lab. There were projected screens on every wall and bits and pieces of metal and tech, intricate and complex, littered the tables. As it turned out, Banner was in the room, facing away from you and tinkering with some piece of tech. The tool in his hand was unlike anything you’d seen, multi-pronged with many small parts, delicate as a surgeon’s blade and leaving a puff of sparks in its wake. He wielded it as confidently as one would a wrench. The sound of the door closing didn’t move him; you decided he was too focused on the task to respond and sat down to wait.

He seemed to reach a stopping point as he set down the tool and turned around. “Hey. We missed you last night.”

“I passed out. Sorry.” You gestured around the lab. “Stark’s not here, so I’ll go ahead and say it: This place is incredible.”

“Stark is here,” The aforementioned closed the door behind him. “Stark was using the little boy’s room.”

You sighed. “Did you send me a text each hour I wasn’t there?”

“ _I_ didn’t send you a text. My phone did it automatically.”

“Setting up an hourly message still counts,” you grumbled. “Nevermind. Whatever you have to say about yesterday, just get it out of your system,” you said.

“You’re no fun,” Stark frowned.

Banner cut in before any arguing started. “Would you like to see what we’ve been working on?”

“Yes!” You ran to him eagerly. “Please.”

Banner led you to the opposite table and pointed. On a stand was some kind of large, metal hoop—more like a large bracelet, two inches long on the outer surface and large enough that you could fit your hand through. It was flat with a few buttons and a simple screen.

“What is it?” You asked, resisting the urge to touch it.

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Stark said, coming up beside you. “It’s an inhibitor.”

“What does it inhibit?”

“You,” Banner said.

You stared at him, then at Stark, immediately cautious. “I don’t understand.”

Stark waved his hand and a projected screen came up to take half the adjacent wall. A 3D image of a brain circled in one corner. On the right of the screen there was a box with jagged lines going across it.

“I recognize that. Those are brainwaves,” you said. “Wait. Are they mine?”

“Yep,” Stark nodded. “While you were unconscious, your brain went through the craziest sleep cycles I’ve ever seen, which is probably why you were so groggy. Being able to record and analyze multiple types of activity was a good help. It essentially gave us a complete analysis of the different activities of your brain.”

“That’s when I spotted a pattern,” Banner spoke up, reaching for the projection. He dragged the box with his fingers and maximized it; from there he picked at each wavelength like they were guitar strings. The lines blurred like static, then changed into numbers. “Buried in between layers of complex functioning. It was difficult to piece together, but the equation itself was simple enough to solve once it came through.”

“What equation? Can I get the SparkNotes version?” You asked impatiently.

Banner raised an eyebrow. “This _is_ the SparkNotes version.”

“This is the SparkNotes of the SparkNotes version,” Stark added.

You crossed your arms and gave them both a look.

Banner wiped the numbers off the projection, and following his hand, a diagram of the bracelet-like device, along with a smaller, curved piece, appeared.

“I call it the Roulette Algorithm,” Banner said. “It’s a measure of probability. Chance.”

“My powers,” you said. The other two nodded.

“Problem is, the equation is, essentially, unquantifiable. There are always variables.”

“For example,” Stark said, “because we might never know the limits of the amount of powers you may manifest, we might never be able to completely solve it.”

“Hence the journal.” You looked at the diagram of the device and poked at it. It spun as if you had actually touched it. “What’s it do?”

“This one’s my idea,” Stark said, reaching past you to pick up something from the table. It was the curved piece. Small clips lined the outer curve. It looked like a bulky earpiece with teeth. “You wear this over your ear. This little box that sits below your earlobe reads your brainwaves. It’s connected to that device over there.”

Stark picked the cylinder-shaped object off its stand gingerly and handed it to you. It looked like it was meant to be worn over your wrist, so you stuck your hand through. Automatically, the device resized itself to fit your wrist with a metal whirr.

“Woah! Cool.” You examined the thing from all sides, rotating your arm.

“The earpiece reads your brainwaves,” Stark continued. “When you hit that first button on the band of the device you’re now wearing, it sends instructions to the earpiece, which then interrupts the Roulette Algorithm.”

“Interrupts?” You looked at him sharply, alarmed.

“Yes,” Stark said. “And in turn, it prevents your power from changing.”

You heart lurched and you were in his face immediately, voice low. “Don’t fuck with me, Stark. Don’t joke about this.”

He didn’t back down, looking you in the eye. “I’m not joking. This thing,” he pointed to your wrist, “will keep whatever power you currently have active. No surprise changes.”

You stepped back slowly, paling, saying nothing. The other two waited for you to speak, leaving a tense silence hanging in the air. Banner was about to break the silence when you held out your wrist to Stark.

“Take it off,” you said quietly.

“What? Why?” Stark said. He and Banner glanced at each other, both frowning.

They expected you to be elated. You knew you shouldn’t resent them for it, it made sense, but you couldn’t help feeling angry. Time and time again, you and your parents tried everything they could to keep you normal, to keep you and others safe. Yoga. Meditation. Drugs. The first few times you tried, you went into it with excitement, hope. It never worked, even when it appeared to at first. Something would change, something would happen. It always had. You had stopped hoping.

That infernal device represented another such trap. You could manage being a danger to others, even if it was an awful way to live.

You couldn’t manage having your hopes crushed yet again.

Stark… He had to dangle this above you, another useless thing that had, for a second, made your hopes surge and your chest ache.

“It’s not gonna work,” you said, louder. Then, “Please. Take it off.” You were bristling; the metal felt like it would burn your skin.

Stark reached out and pressed a second button on the device, making it return to its original size. You pulled it off and pushed it into his hands.

“How dare you,” you growled, raising your voice. “How dare you.”

He didn’t realize, right then, how cruel he was being. You blamed him anyway.

“What did I do?” Stark said, his joking tone doing a poor job to cover up his bewilderment.

Banner placed an arm across Stark’s chest, quieting him. “I worked on this too. If you’re going to get mad at him, you may as well be mad at me.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the room. “Come on.”

You followed him around a corner, where he faced you. He went to put his hands on your shoulders until you pulled away, reminding him of your aversion to sudden touch. “Listen. I understand what it’s like.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“Tell me I don’t.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Tell me I don’t.”

You avoided his eyes. “I grew up with it,” you tried lamely, but both of you knew it was beside the point.

“Tony and I, we helped make Vision.” Banner said. “We’ve done amazing things. Tony, he’s living with that thing in his chest. Both of us have developed so many—”

“And yet you’re still…” You didn’t finish, immediately ashamed of yourself for speaking the words.

Banner closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “What I’m trying to say is you can’t stop trying.”

“I don’t know if I can deal with being let down again,” you said, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry. You both worked really hard. But I’ve tried before. So many times.”

“I know.” There was such a heaviness to the words that it struck you. He was carrying something, something more than just the Hulk. You supposed everyone did, but outside of the giant, green monster he was known for, the rest of Banner’s worries must have been overlooked, ignored. It must have been lonely.

“You might have an opportunity I never will,” Banner said. “Don’t throw that away.”

Stark stayed where he was, busying himself with the projection. He knew better than to interfere. It surprised him, then, when you were before him again.

“You said the device disrupts the algorithm. That doesn’t sound safe,” you said. “Has it even been tested?”

“Of course not,” Stark said matter-of-factly. “It’s based on _your_ brain. It literally cannot be tested on anyone else.”

“Are you kidding me, Stark?”

“What?” Stark held his hands up. “You cannot put this one on me. That’s how science works. Things don’t just come out ready-to-go.”

You almost stomped in frustration. “I know,” you said, gritting your teeth. “I’m…” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Stark didn’t tease you for apologizing, clueing you in that he was treading carefully on the subject.

“So what happens? How is this thing… tested?” You shifted from foot to foot nervously.

Stark noticed and smiled internally—you wouldn’t have been nervous if you hadn’t made up your mind. “So you’re giving it a shot?"

“I’ll try it. That’s all I can promise.”

-

“So you’re waiting for a handy ability to pop up first?” Wanda sat on the far end of the couch opposite of you, legs folded under her. You would have liked to sit a little closer, but it was risky to do so at the moment.

Rhodes lay back on the adjacent couch, lazily flipping through channels. Romanoff was half-asleep in a chair, laying over her unfinished report on the table. Barton was making coffee, likely for Romanoff.

“Well, yeah,” You said. “I can’t walk around dodging physical contact. It’s tiring, and frankly, a little scary. I don’t know how you can go into people’s heads without being overwhelmed.”

“Our powers don’t work the same way. That’s probably all it is. I have a natural control over mine, while yours seems a little more chaotic.” She tilted her head, thinking. “My power came about because I was exposed to the Mind Stone. You already had a similar ability when you touched it.”

“Honestly, you’re incredible, Wanda,” you said, resting your head on the back of the couch. “To be able to overpower the Mind Stone. At least when it’s in Vision’s head.”

Wanda blushed, looking away. “Thank you. You’re pretty cool yourself.”

You laughed. “Running around avoiding disasters isn’t all that cool.”

“You’d be surprised,” Barton said, walking up to you with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Oh, yeah? Any stories?” You said, accepting the mug he held out to you. Wanda did the same.

Barton gave a sly grin. “Confidential. Become an Avenger and I’ll consider it.”

“None of you are funny,” you said flatly, even though the only other one to tease you about it was Steve. “I don’t wanna.”

“I’m funny,” Rhodes spoke up from his spot on the couch.

Barton rolled his eyes. “No info for you.”

“Be nice.” Wanda poked him in the ribs.

“I’m always nice,” Barton said.

“Anyway, before we were so _rudely_ interrupted,” Wanda said with a purposeful glance to Barton, “I saw that Vision has been to the lab a few times. He must be curious about the incident.”

You nodded, smiling. “I can see the three of them discussing the data. Him, Stark and Banner.”

“I’m curious to know more myself,” Romanoff leaned over the back of the couch, sipping at the mug in her hands.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Rhodes joked lightly. “Tiring mission?”

“Just a little,” she said, waving it off as she always did.

“You’ll have to ask them about the data,” you said. “I relayed all I could understand.” You looked back to Wanda. “Oh, Wanda. Yesterday, you mentioned that you had an idea. What was it?”

She straightened up, suddenly excited. “I had thought, ‘humans are so cognitively complex, why not try on something less intense?’ See, after Ultron, I had to adjust to my new life. And…”

You leaned in, hooked. “And?”

“At one point, I fed some stray cats. One was bold enough to let me pet him. I then found out that I can see into animals’ minds as well as people.”

You almost bounced, matching her excitement. “Oh! I’ve done something like that! I’ve talked to animals about… three times before? I love to go to the shelter when that one pops up.”

“And you say you’re not cool,” Wanda beamed. “One of my friends who works here has a cat. I already talked to her, she says she can bring him in.”

“Okay,” Romanoff said, “that _is_ cool.”

“One day I’ll meet a hawk,” you said slyly, “and then I’ll see what a _real_ hawk eye can do.”

Barton scowled. “I can’t control that hawks have 20/2 vision. Cut me a break.”

“Never,” you and Romanoff said in unison. You both grinned and you wished you could high-five her.

“You’re like my kids,” Barton said grumpily. “I don’t need more, so give it a rest.”

“They’re reminding you of them while you’re away from home,” Rhodes said.

Steve entered the rec room at that moment. He smelled the coffee and made a beeline for the kitchen, not even bothering to greet anyone. Wilson came in behind him and promptly frowned when Steve took the last of the coffee.

“Okay, I’m out,” you said, standing up. It was getting crowded and you didn’t want to risk any physical contact. You weren’t sure if your brain could survive that so soon after the ordeal with the Mind Stone. “I’m due for a nap.”

“Aw,” Rhodes said. “I was hoping you would tell us about what it’s like to talk to animals.”

“Maybe next time,” you said stiffly, looking around at some of the genuinely disappointed faces the others wore. Discomfort unsettled your stomach; this wasn’t a feeling you knew how to deal with. That people desired your companionship felt alien, dissonant.

When you walked a little too quickly to the door, Steve and Wilson knowingly gave you a wide berth to pass them. It meant you wouldn’t have to speak to them, and you were glad for it, not wanting to handle another conversation right then.

-

Of all the powers you had ever manifested, nothing frustrated you more than flight.

You couldn’t practice it. It was too dangerous—a fall could happen at any moment. The most you had ever done was float above your bed or zip around a few feet off the ground until you got tired. You had flown up to grab stuff off the top shelf when you were younger, but that was as intense as it ever got.

Now, in your room in the early hours of the morning, you were doing somersaults in the air above your bed. It had been too long since this one appeared, and while you couldn’t really do much with it, you’d find your fun where you could.

All the Avengers were in the rec room and you wondered if there was some mission they were all preparing for. Regardless, you couldn’t help but want to show off.

“Hey, guys,” you announced your presence, their heads turning, “check this out.”

You flew up and over one of the couches so you could fly as high as the ceiling and not worry about falling.

There were exclamations of surprise.

“Did you write that down?” Stark asked. Of course he would think about logistics first.

“Yes, Stark, I did.” You rolled in the air, kicking your feet.

“That’s awesome,” Rhodes said. “You going to go out and pr—” he paused and frowned.

The others had already realized the issue you faced, and you nodded at them. “You know I can’t.”

“It’s not so bad,” Barton said. “Steve, Nat, Bruce and I can’t, and we’re doing fine.”

“No, no, you’re definitely missing out,” said Stark, receiving a few looks in return.

“Why’re you all here?” You asked. “Is there something coming up?”

“We’re working on strategies for our next mission,” Steve said.

Your eyes widened. “Something so big you’re all going?”

“Most of us,” Romanoff said.

You pictured them all in uniform, each wearing different tactical gear to suit their style of fighting. Wilson’s EXO-7 Falcon still brought back a few bad memories, but getting to know him helped. It also helped that the wings were incredibly awesome.

The solution dawned on you then and you flew over the others’ heads to land in front of Wilson. “You can fly!”

“No, I can’t,” he replied.

“The armor, doofus! You can fly!”

Wilson laughed. “I know what you meant, I’m just messing with you.”

“I don’t care. You can fly.” You looked at each other flight-capable Avenger in turn. “You could help me.”

“Huh. Didn’t think of that.”

“I did,” Stark said, and it was hard to tell if he was lying. “I didn’t offer because I knew you’d say no. At least, I thought you would. What does Wilson have that I don’t?”

“Sense and reliability,” you shot and heard a few people chuckling.

Banner spoke up for the first time. “The device. You can test it out now.”

You thought about it. It would be easier to try it with something… safer. Like telekinesis. Something that was easy to make small changes with. You couldn’t just fly high and hope for the best every day. But who knew when your power would change next? Wouldn’t it be better to test the device as soon as possible, to be able to refine it and make changes?

The thought of trying a prototype that messed with _brainwaves_ was scary, but you kept your face blank, hiding your apprehension. “So, who’s free that isn’t Stark?”

More laughing. You enjoyed making people laugh, but a group at the same time was too much attention on you, making you a bit uncomfortable.

“I’ve got nothing to do after this, so I’ll volunteer,” Wilson said cheerily.

“But you can’t be in the room right now,” Steve added. “Confidential. Unless you—”

 _“I get it,_ ” you said. “I’m leaving.”

“Meet me at the track in two hours,” Wilson said. “Wear tight-fitting clothing unless you want the entire compound to have a view.”

You laughed that time.

Stark said, “Text me or Bruce before you go and we can fit you with the device.”

You kept your face blank. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I'm excited for chapter 15?
> 
> I love to read your comments! Consider leaving one!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope I didn't scare you with the sudden slowing of chapter updates! Don't worry, I'm far from done with this story.
> 
> I maybe kind of underestimated the length of this chapter. While I was writing it, I paused to check the word count and was like... okay...I have to break this one up. So the thing I'm excited for wont be happening until 16 rather than 15! Sorry! I hope it's worth it!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and enjoy!

You regretted your decision the moment you were higher than ten feet.

“I changed my mind,” you said, looking down at Wilson. “I can go without learning to fly.”

“Wimp,” Wilson taunted. He was outfitted with the EXO-7 Falcon, currently adjusting his goggles.

“Sorry I didn’t spend years jumping out of a plane!”

“Wimp.”

“Fuck off!”

Wilson laughed, understanding the insult was in fear rather than anger. “You’ll be fine. Remember what I told you?”

Banner and Stark had both wanted to be present for fitting you with the inhibiting device. Banner had to help you orient the earpiece; the clips needed to be closed over the shell of your ear and you kept fumbling with them in your nervousness.

When you met up with Wilson, he had you put an earpiece in your other ear and wear a mic by your chin, explaining that you wouldn’t be able to hear each other at distances, especially while the engines on his EXO-7 were going.

“Tell me again,” you said. “Just in case.”

Wilson held up a finger. “One: The EXO-7 Falcon isn’t built for hovering. Once I’m airborne, I’m going to be flying fast. No offense, but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up.” A second finger. “Number two: For the same reason, I won’t be able to hold you steady. Three: I’m fast enough to catch you, but only if we’re high enough in the air so I have time to get to you.”

“Right,” you said, stomach twisting. “High up.”

“It’ll be okay. I won’t let you fall. Promise.” He motioned for you to land, and when you did, he looked you in the eye. His expression was serious but soft. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes,” Wilson said. “You always have a choice.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so nervous. Instead, you shifted from foot to foot , trying to make a decision. You had made the choice to train at the Facility, to go with the Avengers you tried all your life to avoid. You had made the choice to move in. You did it to control your powers—but this one actively scared you. Most of the others weren’t dangerous to practice, not when you had the specialized training room, but you were not partial to heights without safety equipment.

Did you trust Wilson? Yes, but you weren’t sure if you trusted him with your _life_. Still, he’d proven himself when he carefully led you away from that field many months ago, he pushed you to be social and helped you out when you were blindsided by your touchsense power. He also bought you a burrito.

“I trust you,” you said firmly, trying to convince yourself you’d be okay. “You have yet to let me down. Now would be a bad place to start,” you added dryly.

He laughed again, eyes shining at the praise. “Don’t worry, this’ll be fun. Are you ready?”

“God, I hope so.” You jumped into the air, pausing at ten feet as before.

“I’m coming up. Make some room so the wings don’t hit you.”

“You’re faster. That means I have right-of-way. _You_ make room.”

Wilson grinned, adjusting a strap on the harness and giving it a hearty tug. Satisfied, he started running. Those magnificent red-and-silver wings unfolded and the three engines flared to life. With a kick, he was aloft and shooting past you. He was terribly high up in the air within seconds.

“Fuck,” you cursed, forcing yourself to ascend. It felt like you were on a cliff above water, gathering the courage to jump, your friends already swimming and shouting up at you to hurry—but in reverse. You managed not to look down for about five seconds, after which you periodically looked and cursed. Twenty feet. Forty. Fifty.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.”

A voice buzzed in your ear. “You gonna curse every ten feet or you gonna pick up the pace?”

“Fuck you! Fuck this!” You shouted, cresting two hundred feet and still ascending. “Fuck everything!”

Wilson laughed in your ear. “Come on. You’re almost there.”

“Liar!” You cried, watching him zoom back and forth hundreds of feet above you.

Something small detached from his backpack and sped forward and then down, coming your way. You paused where you were and the lack of distraction made things worse. You trembled, eyes glued on Wilson. If you looked down at this height, you knew you would have bailed.

The delta-shaped robot hovered in front of you.

“Redwing’s going to stick close by to keep an eye on you,” Wilson said. “The moment you fall, I’ll know, even if I’m not looking. You can even hold him if you’d like.”

“What, like a flotation device?” you said, watching the robot follow you as you rose steadily higher.

“No, unless you want your torso burned up. Think of him as moral support.”

“Thanks,” you said flatly.

“Don’t mention it. Woo-hoo!” He dived, plummeting to the Earth below before twisting and shooting back up.

“So glad you’re having fun,” you grumbled. “So glad.”

Wilson was swooping in elegant arcs and curves when you finally reached him. You leveled out and finally let yourself look down.

 _“I’ll hold Redwing now!”_ You almost screamed, shaking.

“’Kay. Watch the beak.”

The hawk-bot circled above your arms, lowering itself until it couldn’t anymore without burning you. From there, the engines shut down and the heavy machine fell into your arms. You yelped when the pointed front of it jabbed into your ribs.

“What did I just say?” Wilson said, flying past and then curving in lazy circles around you.

“Sorry, I’m too busy _losing my goddamned mind over how high we are_.” You clutched Redwing, peering down. “How high up are we?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“A little over fifteen hundred feet.”

“I hate you, Sam Wilson.”

His laughter buzzed in your ear. “Let’s go, you can’t just hover there. You’re here to practice. Move your ass!”

You had never groaned while terrified, but the noise that came out of you was a perfect hybrid of the two. You tipped forward and flew.

“I want to see how fast you can go!” Wilson’s radio-fuzzy voice was all excitement.

You tried to focus but was hard when you were shaking. _Fast. Just go fast. Wilson’s taking the time out of his day to do this._ You owed it to him to try. Mustering up your energy, you willed your body to propel forward.

You cursed when it worked, too. But you were still inexperienced, and while you could keep yourself steady and facing one direction without wobbling, you hadn’t actually gotten the opportunity to practice more than that. Your parents had forbidden you to fly outside, so until today, the ceiling had been your limit.

Now, with an open sky wrapped around you, there were challenges you hadn’t expected. For one, you couldn’t control your speed very well. Unless you were crawling (like you had while ascending) a consistent speed was a ‘muscle’ memory you had yet to develop. Therefore, you were speeding up and slowing down like a car with a struggling engine. Worse yet, sometimes you would suddenly shoot forward, then jerk to a stop so hard you almost got whiplash.

“I don’t like this,” you said to Wilson, coming to a stop. “It’s not fun.”

“Was training with Natasha fun?”

“Why, you jealous?” You teased. “No, it wasn’t. It hurt. Well, okay, some of the skills were fun to learn once I got the hang of it.”

“Hm.”

You frowned, seeing what he was getting at. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep trying.”

“Learning to use the EXO wasn’t a walk in the park, either,” Wilson said, passing just a few feet over you, the wake pulling at your hair. “Trust me—once you learn how to maneuver, it’s a total blast.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Wilson laughed. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you owe _me_ a burrito.”

Forty-five minutes in, you began to tire. You pushed yourself to make it to the hour before you told Wilson you were done.

“I’m impressed. You lasted quite a while,” he said, circling lower and lower as you descended, staying close.

“I’m surprised too. I guess flying up is the same as flying in any other direction. Even up high, the effort is the same.” You wiped the sweat off your brow. “I’m wearing long sleeves next time. The sun is brutal up there.”

“Shit, I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

It took almost as long going down as it did going up. You were certain at any moment that the device would fail, that your power would switch right there and you’d fall. Wilson said you needed to be high up for him to catch you, which was probably why he was making tight circles around you now, but it didn’t help your fears.

“Aren’t you dizzy?” you asked, eyes following him back and forth.

“Nope.”

“I’m getting dizzy just watching you.”

“Wouldn’t be wearing this suit if I couldn’t handle it. Hey, drop Redwing so I can call him back.”

You did so, the falcon-bot plummeting and spinning over itself before its engines came to life and it zoomed off. You watched it, then looked down again and were surprised to see a few people, small as ants and steadily growing the lower you were. Eventually, you could recognize them as Steve, Romanoff, and Barton, all standing in the grass, watching.

You landed in front of them, out of breathe. Almost immediately, your legs collapsed and Barton, standing closest, swiftly caught you. You didn’t shy away when he held you up, your entire body shaking.

“Never again,” you panted, letting him bear your weight.

“We’re doing it tomorrow!” Wilson stated cheerfully as he jogged over from where he landed.

For a full minute, you didn’t speak, leaning into Barton and trying to relax your twitching muscles.

“Scary the first time, huh?” Barton said with a knowing smile. “Knowing a mistake can end your life. Unless you have super cool spy gadgets like Nat ‘n I.”

“Not helping,” Wilson pointed out.

“Not helping,” you agreed.

Steve smiled. “How’d they do, Sam?”

“Did great,” Wilson said. “I’m a good teacher.”

“Right. That’s why they’re shaking,” Romanoff joked.

You gradually found your legs as they laughed and chattered. Standing, you gently pushed on Barton’s arm to let him know you recovered. “Why are you guys here?”

“It’s your first time flyin’. I wanted to see,” Steve said.

“We’re interested in how our student is doing,” Romanoff said. “Gotta say, I’m proud.”

The praise made your cheeks flush with warmth. While you considered most of the Avengers to be your friends—as much as they could be for how long you’d known them—you still mentally placed them on a pedestal. You didn’t know how to process a compliment from someone so… _above_ you in ability.

“Why are you here, Barton?” Wilson prodded. “Never seen you train with ‘em.”

“Thought you would be make good target practice flying around up there,” Barton said. “Chose not to because they were with you.”

“You could never hit me, Barton,” boasted Wilson. “You may be Hawkeye, but I actually _have_ the wings.”

The two began to argue. You glanced from Steve to Romanoff. They were only a little more unfazed, growing used to their friends’ bickering.

“Lunch?” Romanoff offered with a shrug.

“Yes, please. I’m dying,” you said. “I’m as hungry as Steve.” You had quickly learned of the super soldier’s incredible metabolism. Thankfully, Steve was good about replacing the copious amounts of food he burned through. The others would have probably hated him otherwise.

“I doubt that,” Steve said with a grin. “But we’ll see.”

-

The first few days of wearing the inhibitor went by without issue. Despite the device’s purpose, you found yourself constantly apprehensive, expecting a power change at any minute. The others took notice and helped distract you if they were nearby, striking up conversations and offering to watch shows or movies. It eased the anxiety somewhat, but nothing could make it go away while you were flying.

Flight training was daily. You would go with Wilson for the hour, return exhausted, and have lunch. The day-to-day nervousness took a slight toll on your body. It was getting harder to sleep, you yawned throughout the day, and your attention span waned. Sam noticed you struggling a little harder each day, and at the end of the week, he surprised you.

Instead of finding Sam at the field, Vision, wearing casual clothing (as he had come to do since before you moved in,) was standing in his usual place.

“Hello, Vision,” you said. “Let me guess—you’re taking Sam’s place?”

He greeted you in turn. “That is correct. Sam thought you’d feel more confident with someone who can be right beside you.”

You paused, staring at him with disbelief. How did you not consider asking him earlier? You echoed your thoughts to Vision, who chuckled.

“You are simply more comfortable with Sam,” he said. “Your physiological signs are at their most level when you are around certain people.”

While you were aware of Vision’s scanning capabilities, you never considered him to be constantly using them. Of course he would, those were part of his normal functions. Though you viewed him as you would a human, he had a perspective that biological beings might never fully understand.

“So you’re always watching, then?” You said.

“I don’t intend to,” Vision replied. “Think of it this way: all life is constantly taking in information. That information will be different depending on who and what you are. An eagle, for example, can see a mouse from hundreds of feet in the air. Should the eagle be looked down upon for its natural ability?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t use a predator in your analogy,” you said, raising an eyebrow to show you were kidding.

He smiled. “I don’t choose to read heart rates and other such functions. It happens automatically, in a way. I can stop doing so, if you’d like. Like closing an eye.”

“I appreciate it, but now you’re making me feel bad.”

“There is no need,” Vision said. “I understand that humans will be uncomfortable around new experiences.”

“I guess it depends on what you consider an invasion of privacy,” you shrugged. “Know what? It’s fine. Don’t hold back on my account, as long as you don’t share any of it. I’d better not hear anything like ‘Are you okay? Your heart rate is rising’ around others. Got it?”

“I ‘got it.’” He said, amused. “Shall we begin?”

Wilson was right—flying was a lot easier when your helper could stay next to you at all times. Vision followed as you swooped and ducked and turned confidently, taking bolder moves with the knowledge that he was close by. The cyborg could far outspeed you. You weren’t sure if he was faster than Wilson, but Vision stayed within ten feet of you as much as possible.

You were going straight, pushing your speed as high as you could. The earlier conversation about scanning popped into your mind.

“Vision!” You rolled over to look at him as you flew. “Can you measure how fast I’m going?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, clock me!”

Vision peeled away from you and watched as you turned back over and put on a burst of speed. It didn’t feel very impressive, but you made an honest attempt.

“Fifty miles per hour,” Vision said upon returning.

You stopped to catch your breath. “Huh. I wonder what it was the first time. I should’ve asked Wilson to—oh, I guess he couldn’t fly and use a speed gun. Oh well, it’s fun enough.”

“Would you like to go faster?”

“Absolutely,” you smiled. “I look forward to the day I’ll need goggles.”

“I don’t have goggles for you, but I could pull you along, if you’d like.”

The offer took you by surprise. You always imagined Vision to be the proper, analytic, responsible type. It was insensitive, but you never considered he could have a playful streak as well.

“Yes, please! That would be amazing!”

Vision held out his hand, and you took it. It was cool to the touch. “Hold on tight. Yell if you want me to slow down.” He started at a low speed, letting you adjust your position, then gradually sped up until you were going far faster than what you had ever experienced. It had to be over eighty miles per hour; the wind stung at your eyes and made you squint. It reminded you of holding your arm out of a car, except this was with your entire body. You stuck out your free arm, tilting your hand up and down for a moment and smiling to yourself.

It was more exhilarating than any roller coaster. You laughed and shouted into the air, and even when Vision looked over his shoulder to watch you, you were having too much fun to feel self-conscious. After a few long minutes, you needed a break. Vision slowed to a stop and let go of your hand; you lay on your back in the air, giddy from adrenaline.

“Do you want to go higher?” Vision asked.

“Maybe some other time. I’m hitting my limit,” you said.

He smiled. “I was told you lasted an hour your first time flying. It has been two.”

Your eyes widened. “Serious? That’s great! Doubled in a week. If I last an hour longer each week, I’ll be able to fly all day before the month is up!”

“If you are diligent in practicing,” Vision said. “Seeing as you need a volunteer for this, I’d be happy to take over for Sam in assisting you daily.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly, flattered at the offer.

“I’d like to,” said Vision. “Even with the ability to connect to the internet, nothing substitutes genuine physical activity.”

“Not yet,” you pointed out. “I give it less than a century before holo-decks are real. It’s probably happened somewhere out in the universe.”

The two of you began to descend.

“It’s fun,” Vision said. “I also enjoy watching your progress.”

“Thanks.” You looked away from him, hiding your bashful look. You couldn’t deny that the others enjoyed your company (and vice versa,) but there was something about someone taking an _interest_ in you that felt too close to scrutiny. You couldn’t tell how much of it was interest in you as a person rather than you as a scientific anomaly.

Having never been open with your abilities until now, becoming comfortable with the curiosity of others was a new challenge. Perhaps it was only fair, given the fact that everyone in the group had something peculiar about them. You were amongst peers, in a sense.

You understood, then, why they all lived together. Maybe there was really something to this place. If there was, it was certainly because they were there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I'd love to hear what you thought!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I had a lovely trip, got back into Pokemon Go, and have one more day off!
> 
> Some bad news--my job added 11 hours to my schedule, so there won't likely be updates earlier in the week (one of my shifts is a double for the foreseeable future.)
> 
> Some good news--I got this chapter done! I struggled with the pacing, but I hope it's decent enough!
> 
> Thank you for all your support! Please enjoy!

Vision’s help kept you at ease in the air, letting you focus on developing your skills rather than the thought of falling. Naturally (and much to Wilson’s upset,) your flight ability flourished under Vision’s watch.

“The moment that inhibitor is proved to work, we’re gonna fly together,” Wilson had insisted.

Aside from being a little scuffed up due to everyday wear, the inhibitor was fine. It didn’t hurt or leave a strong indentation on your wrist. The one-week mark had passed and you counted every day following it. Your powers were most likely to change now that flight had stayed past the average amount of time, meaning you could soon—possibly—find out if the device worked.

For a few days, everything went on as usual. Then, one morning, you woke up violently nauseous. You sat up in a cold sweat, threw the blankets off you, and barely made it to the bathroom before hurling. Waves of nausea slammed you over and over, and you went from standing to kneeling, trapped at the toilet by repeated bouts of sick.

In between bouts, you managed to run and get your phone. You had to pause to throw up but managed a text.

[To: Stark, Banner  
Subject: help  
cant stop vomiting. ur fault? door;s open]

You dragged sweatpants and a shirt over to the bathroom so you could change, then collapsed next to the cool porcelain. Your eyes watered and your nose was runny. Sweat was already making your clothes stick to you and your core muscles were sore from the constant strain.

The contents of your entire stomach were now out of you, leaving you retching by the time you heard the door open. A comforting hand rested on your shoulder, then left it after remembering your aversion. To your surprise, you found yourself actually missing the contact. You were sick, tired and vulnerable—you should have even been _more_ defensive.

“Baby’s first side effect,” Stark said. “Poor thing.”

“Not a ki—” you stopped and heaved again, but nothing came out but spittle.

“I imagined the inhibitor could cause nausea. It’s fitted right over the ear, after all,” Banner said, feeling your forehead without asking. You let him. “Did vomiting help you feel better?”

“No,” you said miserably.

“Then I’ll bring an anti-nausea med. We should also measure brain waves again,” Banner looked at Stark.

“I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” Stark said. “Not until they stop trying to blow chunks.”

You wiped your mouth. “Just hurry, please.”

“You’ll be alright,” Banner assured as he got up to leave. You and Stark watched him go, then looked at each other, only for you to break eye contact to retch over the toilet.

“I must look gross,” you said as the wave passed.

“Disgusting,” Stark confirmed.

You both laughed. It was the first time you felt better with him around. While you laughed and had fun plenty of times with the Avengers as a group, you never had with just Stark alone. You weren’t sure if you were just too ill to be defensive or if he was easing up on the teasing because you were sick. Either way, you were able to _relax_ around him. It was refreshing.

“Did you know there would be side effects?” You asked.

Stark sat on the lip of the bathtub. “I expected there to be, but there’s no way of knowing. Now we know.”

“I hope nothing worse happens,” you sighed. “Like in those massive pamphlets that come with medication. All the side effects under the sun. I could die.”

“We could all die at any time,” Stark said, then waved a hand dismissively. “Eh. You wouldn’t have tried this if you didn’t think it was worth it.”

“I’m having second thoughts,” you grumbled, feeling your body tense up for another retch.

“But it’s been working so far. You can’t stop now.” Stark saw you open your mouth to counter with an ‘I can,’ just to be combative, and cut you off. “You _shouldn’t_ stop now.”

You leaned over the toilet for a minute, willing down the urge to heave. “I know. But, man, my throat is on fire right now.”

“Banner will be back soon. Stop complaining,” he joked. “Don’t worry. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Holding you to it,” you said.

-

After your nausea went away, Banner and Stark measured your brainwaves along with other vitals. Getting hooked up to the machine was a pain, and you resisted the urge to tug at the patches on your skull.

While the EEG was going, Stark sat on a little stool and took your arm, investigating the bracelet. He held one of those complex multi-tools in his hand, and you flinched when he brought it to your skin.

“You’re going to stab me.”

“Not on accident,” Stark’s tone was playful despite the mock threat. “I’m just taking this off, chill.”

Stark took the bracelet to a worktable, then brought out another earpiece, identical to the one you wore except it was green rather than black. He described it as temporary replacement for the ear half of the inhibitor. “This will let me study the one you’re wearing without stopping the suppression of brain waves,” he explained.

“When did you make that?”

“Same time as I made the prototype, for this exact reason.” Stark tapped the original earpiece once he switched it with the green one. “Life lesson: Always have backups.”

Banner poured over your biological data while Stark tinkered with the wrist half of the inhibitor, a panel on it opening to reveal the glowing, complex internal structure. You sat back and closed your eyes, tuning out their very complicated mutterings and discussions.

There was a tickling along your scalp that woke you. It took you a few confused seconds to realize you had dozed off. Banner was removing the electrodes from your skull now, the sharp smell of acetone reaching you as he applied it to the glue that held them in place. You wrinkled your nose as the glue dissolved.

Stark himself was over at the table still, working on the ear part of the inhibitor.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Did it mess anything up?”

“No. Actually, it helped,” Banner said.

“We would’ve woken you if it didn’t,” Stark added. “Though I suggested it anyway. I’ve been meaning to try out a new type of alarm clock.”

Banner smiled at the joke despite himself. “It let us record some sleep phases. We compared them with those from the first records we took. After that contact with Vision, the activity in your brain fluctuated to extremes. Now, the parameters are entirely where they should be. In terms of messing with everyday brain function, the inhibitor has been harmless.”

“All that’s left is to iron out any side effects we—you—come across,” Stark said.

Banner’s fingers moved across your scalp as he fiddled with the electrodes, which felt nice. You leaned your head just slightly into his hands. “I hope that doesn’t take long. It’s been weeks and this symptom just showed up. Who knows how long it will take?”

“So negative,” Stark commented.

_Gotta stop talking that way, man._

It hit you then.

Stark wasn’t trying to be mean. There was no denying he was a difficult person, always moving on his own terms, always pushing people to see just how far he could go, always having something to say. And yet, his words and Wilson’s were the same. Stark’s kindness, it seemed, would always be hiding behind a wall of sarcastic humor and delivered in jabs.

So you didn’t retort, instead analyzing Stark with narrowed, curious eyes. He definitely noticed, because his expression was blank and hard to read. What led him to have such a good poker face, you wouldn’t know. There were so many things that could point to it; enough information was on the released S.H.I.E.L.D. files to build a good idea of his history. Stark—all of the Avengers, really—all had gone through their own turmoil and come out of it a changed person.

Had you already come out different? What were you even _like_ before? And when was “before?” Five years old? Ten? Sixteen?

Banner explained, “Plenty of things—diseases, drugs, what have you—have delayed symptoms. It can take days, weeks, even years.”

“So there’s no point in being apprehensive. If it happens, it happens,” Stark said. “Give me another half hour, I’ll be done with the changes.”

-

The inhibitor on your wrist now had a blue stripe painted around the center with “MK-II” printed in the stripe in white block letters. The earpiece had a similar decoration.

“It makes it look like Stark put micro-missiles in here,” Wilson commented. “So ‘mark two’ just means you’ll throw up less?”

“Hopefully,” you said.

Wilson and Vision had both met you on the field today and you had given them a questioning look when you approached. “So, two for one deal or…?”

Wilson gave a lazy smile. “I wanted to see if you can keep up with me yet.”

You had a feeling he was still dwelling on Vision’s superior teaching. “If you’re hoping I haven’t improved, then prepare to be disappointed,” you grinned.

“We’ll see about that,” Sam said, putting on his goggles.

You noticed another pair hanging off of his arm. “I’m guessing that’s for me?”

“Yep! No more stingy eyes. And you’re wearing long sleeves and everything. I’m so proud.”

There was no protection from the sun miles in the air, of course.

You stood tall and crossed your arms in mock arrogance. “Damn straight. You should be.” You cracked a smile toward the end, unable to keep a straight face. Arrogance didn’t suit you.

Wilson chuckled and held out the goggles. They weren’t like his, their structure and design more generic. His were built for his suit. These ones, black with yellow lenses, looked similar to skydiving goggles.

“No built-in tech, I presume?” You took the goggles and adjusted them clumsily.

“Do you need help?” Vision asked.

There was no benefit in being stubborn, so you just nodded and turned around so he could fix the strap.

“You don’t need fancy goggles. Those are for special operations,” said Wilson.

Vision had a playful look again. “Unless you can prove it’ll be of significant use to you in a situation deemed dire enough to require it.”

Once he was done fixing your goggles (which were _much_ tighter on your face now) you flew up above them and did a lazy somersault. “I could see a rare bird. An extremely endangered bird. If I wasn’t able to scan, photograph, and identify it with super cool spy goggles, we could lose valuable data on their conservation.”

“Not bad,” Wilson said, “I admire your ability to bullshit.”

“Only way I ever finished essays,” you said dryly. “What if a plane hits me? Without super cool spy goggles, I won’t see it coming.”

“Weak.”

“You’re not going to say ‘if you join the Avengers, you can wear them?’”

“I thought about it.”

Vision joined you in the air. You looked down at Wilson. “Missed your chance, then. Bye!”

You and Vision took off, leaving an indignant Wilson behind.

He, of course, shot past you a few seconds later. “That was an unfair head start! _Bye!_ ” He called down.

Vision had been flying beside you, but once Wilson passed, Vision surged ahead to race him. You rolled your eyes and laughed.

It was hard not to be happy when you were flying. You would be forever grateful for the opportunity to grow and develop those skills. Flying had always been nothing but anxiety and terror. Now you were fearlessly soaring over a thousand feet, reveling in the sensation. There was no greater freedom on Earth.

You raced Wilson and Vision, but no amount of mental stamina could outdo a jetpack or godlike cyborg without immediate migraines.

Wilson’s voice buzzed across the radio. “I’m coming from above you. Don’t move. This is gonna be awesome.”

“Given that ‘awesome’ is a matter of opinion, I’m worried,” you said lightly. You heard the sound of the EXO-7’s engines growing louder and louder. Wilson was behind you and fast approaching. Right as he passed overhead, he reached out and grabbed the back of your hoodie and shirt together. You were jerked from ten miles an hour to eighty across the span of three seconds and lost your breath momentarily. Your arms went to the neckline of your jacket and held it down so you wouldn’t slip out of it.

While not the most comfortable thing in the world, the Wilson didn’t strain your arm like when Vision pulled you along. It took a little figuring out to find what position worked, but when you did, you could focus entirely on the exhilaration.

“This is incredible, Wilson,” you said.

“Told you!”

“It was fun when Vision did it, too.”

Wilson let go of you, leaving you tumbling through the air, laughing.

A new voice came in over the radio line.

“Are you using military equipment for fun?” Steve said, unable to make his voice sound convincingly stern.

“Nope,” Wilson said, shooting forward. “YA-HOO!”

Then it was Barton’s voice that buzzed in your ear. “Insubordination must be punished.”

A moment later, something struck one of Wilson’s wings, not piercing but with an impact hard enough to shove him off-course into an awkward heap.

“Even you can’t see that far up, Barton,” Wilson said grumpily as he righted himself. “You only hit my wing.”

“I was only aiming for your wing.”

“Woohoo!” You whooped as you shot downward, going to see Steve and Barton, descending in tight circles like a roller-coaster and swooping into a fancy landing. Both men looked at you, panting and full of adrenaline.

Steve looked at the others soaring high above them. “You’re makin’ me jealous.”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t fun at all,” you assured, then took off again, hollering.

Steve and Barton looked at each other. Steve shrugged. Barton decided to take out his flight-envy on Wilson, raising his bow to fire at him.

Wilson’s goggles must have notified him of the incoming arrows, because he put on a burst of speed and swung out to the side. He was promptly blindsided by an arrow impacting his chest, knocking him entirely out of his path. Barton had purposefully lured Wilson into the path of his third arrow and into a false sense of security.

“This wouldn’t happen if you didn’t underestimate Clint,” Vision said as he made his way over to check on you.

You added, “Hubris, Wilson, hubris.”

Arrows were whizzing by now, all targeting Wilson. Barton didn’t shoot at Vision; you supposed Vision could just shield himself. Barton certainly wouldn’t shoot at you.

Or would he?

“Hey, Vision?” You gestured to the general area where Wilson was zipping around and struggling not to get hit. “What if I dodged arrows for training?”

Vision looked surprised, then smiled. “I don’t think you’ll be able to avoid any of them”

“I’ll ask him to go easy.” You called Barton over the line and explained your idea. He had laughed, amused and secretly pleased.

The arrows were tipped with a device that caused intense pushback upon impact, like a small, non-lethal explosion. It shouldn’t cause any serious injuries, but from how far Wilson had been thrown, you were a bit nervous. However, it didn’t overshadow your excitement at the challenge.

“I’ll count down from three,” Barton said. “On zero, I’ll shoot.”

He got to ‘two’ before an arrow impacted your side, tossing you thirty feet through the air. You didn’t even realize what had happened until you stopped spinning.

“What the hell?" you yelled into the mic, unconcerned about hurting the others’ ears in your upset.

“Always keep your guard up,” Barton said cheerfully. There was a split second where you could see a thin, black blur below you, and you pulled back in time to avoid the arrow. “Hey, there you go.”

Barton was as tough a teacher as Romanoff. He only let you off easy for the first few shots, after which pushing you to dodge faster and smarter, with your motivation being not getting hurled through the air. Barton began to fire at all three of you, although, as you expected, Vision was unaffected.

It was a fun game, definitely one only a group like the Avengers could play. You still found it strange that you could indulge in their activities as well. You still didn’t see you and the others as equals in strength, but you supposed if some of your powers let you keep up with them, that was good enough.

You mistimed your dodge this time and the arrow found its mark. There was a brief moment where the flat head of the arrow touched your side, then, like a button pressed, it set off, an impact chucking you in the opposite direction. Disoriented, you fell through the air longer than you usually would, struggling to right yourself. Then, there was a whine of engines that suddenly grew loud as Wilson appeared behind you. He caught you in his arms in a perfect fly-by. Layed out horizontally, the wind whipped at your body much harder, but your goggles prevented any discomfort.

“Gotcha!” Wilson said, and now you could hear him in person as well as over the radio line, a delay between the two. “You okay? He knocked you pretty good.”

“He got you too. Multiple times. I’m new; what’s your excuse?” You stuck out your tongue, which dried in seconds from the wind.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Wilson huffed, slowing down until he was gently cruising. “If only the person who stumbled into our Facility didn’t have a mean sense of humor.”

“Hard luck,” you smiled.

“Even when you’re scared, you crack jokes. I noticed the first time we flew.” Wilson grinned back at you. “I’m glad to see that you’re warming up to this place. You’ve come a long way since you first came here.”

“Drop me,” you replied.

Unlike Wilson and Vision, you had no armor to speak of and could only handle the impacts so many times. You descended to see that Steve was still on the ground by Barton. When you were a few feet above them, Barton, who was standing with his bow at his side, moved as quickly as lightning, drawing an arrow and shooting in one fluid motion before you could register anything. You were promptly knocked out of the sky and would have hit the ground hard had Steve not caught you. Giant arms hooked under your knees and back. You resisted the urge to make a fuss about being touched, especially since he saved you, but the moment he set you down, you rounded on Barton.

“I catch everyone by surprise,” Barton defended smugly. “You don’t get to be an exception.”

Wilson and Vision joined you shortly.

“Rescued twice in half an hour,” you said dryly. “Keep going like this and I’ll have graced everyone’s arms.”

“Consider it a favor. Thousands of people would kill to be up close,” said Barton.

“I’m not a crazed fan,” you pointed out. “I’m not even really a fan at all.”

The others frowned.

“Not like that,” you said quickly. “I mean, I was just never hugely into celebrities. I like you guys.” That made all of them look at you. You quickly added “for the most part," uncomfortable with the admittance.

Everyone conversed as they made their way inside, musing over today’s training and the general goings-on of the Facility. When you were talked about (Steve was scolding Barton for firing at you so close to the ground,) you pulled out your phone, hiding behind it to avoid engaging.

“Everyone’s always on their phones nowadays,” Rhodes teased upon seeing your group enter the rec room.

“I’m checking my email, thank you very much,” you said. “Don’t make assumptions, Mr. Rhodes.”

Rhodes, unlike Wilson, wasn’t bothered by being referred to as "Mr." “Got me there,” he shrugged.

You looked back at your phone, reading and deleting emails in the order they were sent. One in particular caught your eye, then, and you promptly skipped over the rest to peruse it.

Among the many newsletters you had subscribed too, most of them were from museums. Even though they were all too far to drive to, you liked to read up on the upcoming exhibits anyway, not unlike a hungry person watching Food Network. There was only one newsletter today, one of the monthlies from the Smithsonian. You eagerly scrolled through the email, reading through the details.

At the very bottom, you squinted at the usual notice reminding subscribers that the old exhibit would be switched out when the new one arrived. The current exhibit, in this case, would have been the Captain America exhibit. You only had a few days left. You scrunched up your nose. They should have sent that email way further in advance—your email domain must have gotten buggy again. _Maybe Stark has his own fancy one he’ll let me make an account on._

A few days. You would miss out unless you visited soon.

“What do you think, guys?” You asked after explaining your desire to visit the museum. “It’s a four-hour drive. I’d have to at least stay there one night.”

“Unless you go by plane,” Rhodes suggested. “You know you can put the tab on us, right?”

“Yes, bill it straight to Stark,” you hissed, rubbing your hands together. “If I abuse his wealth over my entire lifetime, I might just leave a tiny dent in his bank account.” You flopped onto the couch and leaned back, sore and tired from training. You relaxed, not quite dozing, not quite listening to any conversations. Your thoughts settled on D.C. and what sightseeing you could do after the museum. Then again, was it fair of you to go? What if it ended up like the concert? Except this time, the area would be full of government buildings.

“Is it okay for me to go?” You said suddenly to no one in particular.

Steve cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You considered the question but ultimately couldn’t figure it out. _Why do I feel this way?_

Wilson approached and you craned your head up over the back of the couch to look at him. “So you were denied the chance to go once,” he said, “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ever go. Didn’t you say you were confident about your skills? Now seems like the perfect time to get out there.”

You rubbed the back of your neck.

“It’s good to step outside of your comfort zone,” Steve added.

“You know what? You guys are right.” You stood up. “I’m going _tomorrow_. No, wait, the day after tomorrow. I think Barton’s arrows bruised my ribs.”

“Whining, whining,” Barton said. “It’s tough love.”

“You seem keen on going soon,” Vision said. “Are you in a hurry?”

“No!” You said, a little too quickly. “No. I’m just really eager to go. I did well today, so I thought I might take a chance…” You weren’t sure if you were entirely convincing, but they didn’t seem like the types to keep up on museum news, so, thankfully, it didn’t matter. You weren’t sure if you could deal with them knowing you went out of your way to see a Captain America exhibit.

“Go for it!” Rhodes said, the others following up with similar encouragement.

In two days, then.

Your bed was always the most comfortable after a rough day of training. It seemed that the more rigorous practice was, the softer your pillows became. You went slack into the sheets and buried your face into your pillow. Two days. Two more days and you would go out into crowds, far from home, far from the security of the Boom Room, and entirely alone. You would be depending on yourself—you had done so since moving out, but this time, you were gambling with something else entirely.

Before all of this, you would have had to notice escape routes, plan to go out on days with less people (hello, extreme weather, goodbye, weekends) and do what you could to minimize collateral damage should something happen on an outing. Now you had this device, which had proven to work so far. It had been weeks, and you wanted to keep your flight even longer, as long as possible. Whatever it took to see if it could break your current record for longest-lasting power. Of course, more adjustments would need to be done to the inhibitor over time as side effects cropped up. In the end, it was up to you to decide how long this experiment—project?—would last.

The danger, the gamble, wasn’t that you could get hurt, or that you wouldn’t be able to be in public. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even concerned about hurting someone by accident.

The danger was putting hope into that device.

You would let yourself get your hopes up one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protect yourself from the sun! Use sunscreen and wear a hat! Be safe in this heat and drink lots of water.
> 
> Fun fact, I originally made a typo in "food network" that said "foot network" RIP
> 
> Please comment! I missed you guys! <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a nightmare and I hate how it turned out. But it's here and it's done. Thank you all so much for your patience. Despite my dissatisfaction with it, I'm happy I got to this point in the story.
> 
> To those whose comments I didn't reply to until now--I enjoy reading comments and felt I didn't deserve to read them until I had the chapter out.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it more than I do!

You walked down the hallway of the exhibit at a sloth’s pace, reading every word of information posted on the walls. The place was designed with a World War II media style in mind, exhibited with dynamic, modern projections. The wall on your opposite side showed various anecdotes of Steve, including a picture of him pre-serum. You’d seen it before, but it never failed to amaze you. The serum creator—Dr. Erskine, the display said—was a genius. You wondered if his serum saved Steve or if it ultimately doomed him. Steve would have lived out his frail existence and pass on with everyone else in his time. Now he was trapped in a different world, never to go back, never to see the places and people he loved. Which would have Steve preferred?

A panel was mounted onto the wall, giving a brief history of the Super Soldier Serum. There had been four versions attempted since its beginnings with Dr. Erskine. Next to each version was a prop vial of the respective serum, connected to the panel by a wire so it wouldn’t be stolen.

Howard Stark had attempted a version as well. You picked up the vial next to his name, turning it over in your hands. Howard Stark was a genius, too. Dr. Erskine may have invented the serum, but Stark invented the vita-ray chamber to make it work. Not to mention Steve’s shield—over seventy years, and it still outmatched most modern weapons. Stark was able to take a challenge and solve it, able to make miracles happen, able to conduct technology so advanced it might as well have been magic. He was the other half of what changed Steve.

You stared at a picture of Howard Stark. He didn’t resemble his son as much as you’d have thought, but the features were there.

Other people were meandering through the exhibit, some with as much enthusiasm as you, some going through the motions as they were dragged along with family, some simply children running around with Captain America action figures. A few people were standing behind you, eyeing the display and waiting for you to finish.

You moved on. In the next room were various displays (some interactive, as you were delighted to see) on the Howling Commandos. You learned that the unit was made up entirely of freed prisoners of war and thought it fit Steve to lead such a team.

You turned your head to the other display.

Then there was James Barnes (you learned his middle name was Buchanan.) A tragic case, as you had learned from the scattered bits of information available online. You knew little about him—even with the HYDRA takeover and file leak of S.H.I.E.L.D. As you had mentioned to the others, you weren’t into celebrities or any sort of famous people. Your studying of the Avengers had been more of a “know your enemy” type of situation. As Barnes wasn’t an Avenger (hell, it was only recently that the general public knew he was _alive_ ) you never took interest.

You frowned. Poor Steve. Barnes was the only person who could possibly relate to him. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to be the only one from your time period, thrown into the future. Steve’s parents passed when he was young. He had no one to lean on but friends. If Barnes was his best friend, then that was the closest relationship he had left. There was no one else.

Now Barnes had reappeared out of nowhere, brainwashed, changed, leaving Steve with a reminder of what Steve had before, and then disappearing. Maybe you were luckier than you thought. You had your own struggles to deal with, but there were people who knew you well. Not a lot of people, but enough.

You looked ahead to the gift shop and saw a little girl wearing a fleece Captain America hat with the tag still on. You smiled and considered getting Steve something as a joke. He was probably sick of that kind of tease, though—and if you got him something, you’d have to get everyone else something out of guilt. Nothing in the shop was particularly fascinating, just cash-grabbers made to drain parents’ wallets through the power of begging kids.

The flow of people petered out toward the end of the exhibit. You milled about even after you had read everything. Museums were always just a little quieter than daily life. It was refreshing. Being around normal people was refreshing, too. Sure, the agents in the Facility weren’t enhanced in any way, but like Romanoff, you still considered them different from the general population. Maybe that was wrong, but you woke every day to a building full of agents in office attire. Here, most everyone was dressed casually. Multiple people wore a lazy jacket like you did, and it had been forever since you saw someone wear a baseball cap. A few people wore sunglasses indoors, which you always found dumb, but it was something different from your daily life, at least.

You looked at the display one last time, reading it again almost as a farewell. Your eyes were still on it when you started to walk away, and roughly bumped into someone for your lack of attention. You quickly apologized. The person didn’t react. You frowned, but being ignored wasn’t unfamiliar. You couldn’t count the amount of times you had welcomed someone into a store you worked at only for them to pretend you didn’t exist. But something was different.

The man didn’t ignore you out of malice or ignorance, you thought. He was rigid, carefully glancing around him. He stared at a few people in particular, following them with his eyes. Then, he caught you watching him, and let out a gruff “S’alright” and went back to scanning the room. He was weirding you out, so you decided not to stick around.

The outdoor gardens of the building were beautiful, of course, perfectly manicured with smooth paths flanked by trees. The opposite building was built to look like a castle. The entire area was, essentially, a strip mall of museums and art galleries. You understood, then, why it was called the National Mall. The sound of traffic wasn’t far, but the strip still held its own sort of quiet nobility.

You were walking to the bus stop when something very hard jabbed into your lower back. You winced and went to turn, but a low voice stopped you.

“Don’t move.”

Before you could protest, you heard a very, very characteristic _click_.

“I’ll kill you.”

Your blood ran cold and you froze to the spot. A million thoughts raced through your mind at once. Who was this? Was it the weird guy? Did he want money? Did he want to take a hostage? How did he get a gun past security? Why you? Why—

“I’m going to put the gun away. You’re going to walk with me. Try to alert anyone, and I’ll kill you _and_ whoever’s closest.”

The metal left your back and an arm slung around your shoulder. You flinched at the touch and looked up to see a casually-dressed man, tall and muscular. You recognized him as one of the guys in the museum who wore shades. It made sense now, and even though it was impossible to have known, you still berated yourself for not picking up on it. The man walked, pulling you along until you were going the direction he wanted. His arm around you felt like fire.

He smiled big and laughed like you had said something funny. “No way, those pictures were definitely photoshopped! There’s no way in hell Captain America ever looked like that.” The two of you looked like any other passersby. To everyone else, you were just a pair touring the area together. They had no idea. And you couldn’t say anything. You looked at the kids bobbing after their parents.

“Did you remember where we parked?” The man asked. You didn’t know how to reply. You weren’t sure if you were _supposed_ to reply. You could only hope the terrified look on your face alerted someone to the situation. “You don’t look so good. Are you alright?”

Your stomach dropped. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Hey,” the man gripped your shoulder so tightly it hurt. “I said, are you okay?”

You tried to speak, but your voice was gone. You nodded stiffly instead.

“Don’t worry, I have some Aleve in the car.”

Another lurch of your stomach. Where was he taking you? Why? Why did it have to be you? If only no one was around! Then you could at least try to run. There was no telling if this man would keep his word.

The discreet, black sedan was parked only a few blocks away, but the walk felt hours long. You were on the first floor of a parking garage. When there was no one else around, you finally found your voice.

“I have money,” you rasped, tongue dry.

The man didn’t respond.

“Please,” you pleaded, unable to see inside of the car’s tinted windows.

The man pushed you in front of him. “Go.”

You looked back over your shoulder and saw him pull out a pistol with a silencer. There was a dark blur in the corner of your eye, and suddenly another man lurched forward, throwing all his weight into a powerful kick. The gunman went flying like he was hit by a car, his gun clattering yards away.

There was shouting from inside the car and the doors opened. You saw at least two more people exit the car before the other man grabbed your arm and ran.

You stumbled after him, trying not to trip in his gait, too scared to protest. All you knew was that he was on your side and that was all you _needed_ to know. Never in your life had you run so fast. You didn’t dare look back.

The man pulled you around cars, putting barriers between the two of you and the gunmen. Then he went straight for the perimeter, letting go of your arm so he could jump over the concrete that fenced in the garage. It was as high as your chest, but you vaulted over like there was a trampoline at the bottom. You could hear muted shots hitting the concrete behind you. The man grabbed your arm again and led you down another street.

Now that no one else was in danger, you could fly away. But there were people everywhere who would have seen you. And this was the Capitol. If someone was seen flying around out in the country, it would have been chalked up to be UFO sighting by conspiracy theorists. In such close quarters to the White House, however, there would be an active investigation. What if they could see your face on cameras? What if they thought it was an enhanced person and claimed it was an act of terrorism?

There was a popping noise, and next to you, the window of a parked car shattered. The man pulled you around a corner and down another street.  Most of the buildings were spaced too far apart to provide any shelter between them, but two were close enough to form an alleyway. The man pulled you in there. Only then did he acknowledge you.

“Who are they?”

You shook your head, eyes wide. The man hadn’t even broken a sweat. You were barely able to breathe. He regarded you silently, his eyes narrowing at the inhibitor on your wrist. Then he took your arm again and ran down the alley. He glanced over his shoulder, then pulled you down behind a dumpster. A twang of bullets hitting metal followed. Even with the silencers, the sound of the shots echoed in the narrow space. You froze up, heart pounding. _I’m going to die. I’m going to die._

The weird man peeked around the edge of the dumpster, then jerked back as more shots were fired. You didn’t dare look, just watched him with a desperate hope that he would know how to get out of this. He met your eye, then looked at the safe end of the alley. He pointed at it.

“Run.”

Was he going to take them on? He wasn’t armed. They would shoot you the minute they saw you. How did he plan on covering you?

He saw the hesitation on your face. “I’ll stop them. Run.”

You were a little over halfway down the alley. There was a large space where you would be vulnerable. The man was asking you to put yourself in their line of sight. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff and being told to jump. Your legs just locked up.

“I can’t,” you whimpered.

The man looked frustrated, glancing back and forth between you and the direction of the gunmen. “You have to.” He stood, staying just low enough to be sheltered. “They’re coming.”

When you didn’t move, he grabbed your shoulder roughly and turned you to face the safe end of the alley. “Go. Don’t look back.” Then he pushed you, and that was enough to force your legs to move. You sprinted, terrified, waiting to hear the gunshots that would end your life. Instead, you heard a crash of metal on concrete.

As he assured, there were no gunshots fired at you.

There was, however, a black car that screeched to a halt in front of you and blocked off the alley. The driver swung the door open and stepped out, brandishing his gun. “Don’t fucking move!”

You vaguely wondered how they found you so quickly, but your body acted on instinct and you kicked off the ground, shooting into the air and up over the building roof. You had to fly, you would regret it later, but right then, you only thought of your life. The gunmen below were shouting.

“They’re both enhanced!”

“The target went up the office building!”

 _Both?_ There wasn’t time to dwell on it. They were coming after you—but they couldn’t keep going up and down buildings. You could fly from roof to roof, lead them on a fruitless chase. Maybe if you flew low, you wouldn’t be seen by cameras. You could only hope.

“Spread out!”

You ran away from the direction of the alley and jumped, sailing over and landing on the adjacent roof. You didn’t stop running, skimming from rooftop to rooftop. At one point, you would have been tired out within the first few jumps. Now, after all the flight practice, you were able to keep going. Nothing, however, could mentally prepare you for being shot at, and that itself was enough to take the breath from your lungs.

You didn’t hear the pop, but the following zipping noise caught your attention, especially when the ground seemed to explode at your feet. Another zip of a bullet flying, another little explosion at your heels. You looked over your shoulder to see a man only a few roofs away, dressed like the other gunmen, and holding a rifle with a scope. He pressed a hand to his ear.

“Stay on the ground. I got them.”

He was above you since the beginning, you realized. That’s how the others knew where you were. There was no one but the two of you up there. Panic clamped down on your chest and you ran, all strategy gone, nothing but terror in your veins. A few more shots whizzed by, then nothing. You ducked behind an AC unit, breathing so hard you couldn’t hear anything else. The man couldn’t have seen the entire chase from one place. Somehow, he was able to get from roof to roof almost as fast as you. He was either enhanced or had equipment like Romanoff and Barton did.

You forced yourself to hold your breath so you could listen. Nothing. No shots, no shouting, no footsteps, nothing but the hum of the AC. You knew you couldn’t stay put—the longer it took to gather your nerve, the closer the gunman could get. But you waited a minute too long.

You took off again, this time turning sharply to your left. It didn’t throw off the sniper, who had moved to the adjacent roof while you deliberated. He must have predicted the move, squinting into the scope and carefully following your movement with the gun. The now-distinct popping noise sounded, and then you felt a near-debilitating impact on your wrist as the inhibitor shattered.

The first thought that ran through your mind was that your wrist was blown through and you would bleed out. Then you fell from the air, hitting the roof hard and tumbling head over heels. The world flashed black for a moment, and then you lay still, dazed, the wind knocked out of your lungs. You didn’t know how much time passed between when you hit the ground and when you came to, but it couldn’t have been long, because you were still alone. You tested your limbs. Miraculously, nothing was broken. You looked at your wrist. The inhibitor was gone, a deep bruise forming in its place. It must have and fallen somewhere. Either way, you couldn’t fly anymore, and the realization made you nauseous with terror.

You tried to focus through the spots in your vision. Further away, you could barely make out the sound of footsteps. It was fuzzy, but you heard the gunman speak, “they’re grounded now. We’re at the Hillside Complex.”

An apartment complex. That meant there had to be a fire escape somewhere.

“You lost him?”

Pulling yourself to your feet felt like climbing a rock face.

“Nevermind. Focus on the target, but watch your back. I’m waiting on you.”

You stumbled forward on shaking legs, body moving on adrenaline. The fire escape was ahead of you, the narrow, black platform sticking up over one side of the roof.

“Don’t move!” The gunman had a direct line of sight to you. You went ahead anyway, pulling yourself over.

“They’re heading down on the fire escape. North side.”

This time, you couldn’t get out of a fall. The thought circled in your mind as you descended. More pressing things arose, however, when you saw one of the gunmen charge the bottom of the fire escape. He never made it—around the corner, a blur collided into him. There was a short struggle, a screech of metal, then a fist slamming into the gunman’s jaw. He fell and didn’t get back up. The weird man who slugged him looked up at you in a silent command.

You didn’t hesitate, all but skidding down the stairs. Behind you, the sounds of heavy footsteps on metal told you the sniper was following. Upon seeing your savior, and his comrade out cold, he paused, just long enough for you to make it to the bottom. It was too late to get a clear shot as the weird man led you around the corner and out of sight.

The weird man glanced back at you. “Hurry.”

Looking back on it, you would think _no shit_. But currently, running for your life suppressed everything else in your mind. You didn’t keep track of where you were going, too dizzy, trusting the man to find somewhere to hide. When he finally did, it took everything in you not to collapse. You leaned against a wall, wheezing. It felt harder to breathe after the fall you took.

“They’re going to find us eventually,” the man said quietly. It was the longest sentence you’d heard him say.

In the distance, police sirens screamed. The weird man grimaced. “Come on.” He took your hand, going to run.

You knew, logically, that the brain had no pain receptors. Pain struck your head anyway, suddenly and severely, intense as a broken bone. Images flooded your mind, but it wasn’t like before. The images were blurry, chopped up, glass fragments of sights and sounds and _pain_. There was screaming. There was fire.

There was Steve.

You screamed, of course. Unable to stay on your feet, the man dragged you a moment before he stopped and turned in alarm. He scanned your body for a bullet wound. You had just enough presence of mind to yank your hand out of his grip. The pain was instantly gone, but the memory of it would linger for months. Touching him had been like touching a hot stove, but someone was pressing your hand down. Like you snapped your leg in two.

There was no way the gunmen—and everyone else in the vicinity—hadn’t heard your cry. The weird man was aware of it as well, whipping his head left and right, unsure of what to do. You refused to let him touch you, crawling backward and moaning, “no, no…”

On one end of the narrow street, one of the gunmen appeared, casting a shadow like a monster. He raised his gun and approached slowly. The weird man cursed as another one rounded the opposite end. You were blocked in.

The one who was knocked out, where was his gun? You scanned the floor hazily and made out the shape of one. But the barrel was crushed inward, making it useless. How?

The other gunmen drew closer. The weird man stood in front of you with his arms out, making you shrink back against the wall to avoid touching him. The gunmen were like the lions you’ve seen on nature programs, stalking until they were close enough to ambush.

When they were only a few meters away, they charged. The weird man whirled on one of them, but the gunman was trained, dodging and fighting back. He only lasted a minute before being thrown like a ragdoll. You never actually saw it, as the other gunman—a woman, actually—leveled her gun at your chest.

Then, she lowered her hand to point it at your leg.

She pulled the trigger.

Instead of pain, you heard a high-pitched clang of metal on metal. The weird man had stuck his arm in front of the shot. The woman’s eyes widened, and she stepped back. Through the bullet hole in his jacket, you saw a glint of silver.

“I-It’s the Winter Soldier!” She took another step back. “Everyone, retreat _now_!”

“No!” The man who was thrown shouted as he sprinted back. You recognized him as the one with the rifle. “No! We’re too close!”

The woman cursed, then fired at the weird man—the Winter Soldier—over and over, keeping him occupied until her clip ran out. By then, the other man had grabbed you roughly. He was strong, lifting you without so much as a grunt of effort. A swirl of images and feelings hit you again, but it felt like relief compared to before. The Winter Soldier chased him, but had to turn to block another stream of bullets after the woman reloaded. Their black car pulled up with a screech before you.

_A woman holding you up in the air, laughing. A younger brother playing with toy cars. A Thanksgiving meal, the air warm and the smells mouth-watering. A smiling elderly couple running a hand through your hair. An old man, lying on his deathbed, surrounded by family._

The driver reached back and opened the door, letting your abductor throw you in. The flow of images stopped. You twisted in the seat and reached for the door, but it was locked. Cool metal pressed to your head.

“Drive!”

“But she’s still out there—”

“Fucking drive!”

The car went about two feet before the Winter Soldier reached it. He grabbed onto the back of the car with his metal arm, fingers bending into the chassis with a grinding metal noise. The tires spun in place, screeching against the floor and raising a cloud of smoke, but the car didn’t move.

The gunman cursed and aimed at the Soldier.

You had the sudden realization that they wanted you alive. The woman had aimed at your leg. They intended to disable you. They would try to kill the Soldier. But they wouldn’t kill you.

 

-

 

“Breaking news,” Rhodes sighed, turning up the volume on the TV. “Gunshots in Washington.”

Wanda craned her head to look. “Think they’ll call us?”

“No,” Romanoff said. “They have police and the secret service. Unless a special case crops up, we won’t be needed.”

“More and more shootings.” Steve, leaning forward on the couch. “It was never like this.”

Stark barely looked up from his virtual notepad, but anyone who knew him well enough could see he was downcast about the situation. “Seven decades is a long time. At least we don’t have polio.” The joke was a lame attempt to lighten the mood.

Steve sat up straight, eyes wide. “Tony.”

“What?”

“Tony, look.”

Stark glanced at the TV. Suddenly, every person in the room had their eyes glued to it.

The reporter’s voice played over a blurry video of something flashing over rooftops. It was difficult to see with the camera recording from the ground, but a human shape could be made out for a split second.

Wanda paused the video and rewinded it frame by frame. “There.”

The entire room was silent.

Steve looked at Stark. “Tony, you don’t think…?”

Stark, however, was already out the door.

 

-

 

You threw yourself at your captor and grabbed for his gun, pushing it up right as he squeezed the trigger. The shot blew through the ceiling, and despite the silencer, the proximity to the weapon still made your ears ring. The Winter Soldier heaved and swung the car across the ground and into the brick wall of the nearby building. The impact was on the opposite side from you, which likely saved you from serious injury. Everyone was thrown to the side, the windows shattering. You flew into the gunman, his body cushioning you.

The Winter Soldier ripped the door off of the car. You crawled out weakly. The gunman and the driver were struggling to function, both bleeding from the head. The gunman’s nose was broken, possibly from your skull. You hadn’t felt it. You couldn’t feel any of your injuries.

“Go to the police,” the Soldier said as he reached into the car, crushing the others’ guns in his fist one by one. Then he turned away.

“Wai—” you wheezed, getting up on shaking legs. “Wait!”

He looked over his shoulder.

“You’re James Barnes,” was all you could say. He stared. “Steve is looking for you.”

He seemed to blank out for a moment, his gaze distant.

“You have to… you have to meet him.”

“What?”

Behind you, red and blue lights flashed.

“Please,” you said. The police would see him soon. On impulse, you took out your phone. The screen had cracked from the fall, but it was functioning. You threw it at him and he caught it in his human hand. “Please.”

The black sedan’s driver must have collected himself, because with a screech of tires, he pulled out and onto the street. Police cars followed a moment later.

When you turned around, the Winter Soldier was gone.

 

-

 

One of the police cars pulled up to where you were. You raised your hands immediately. They searched and questioned, but you were too shocked to say anything helpful. An ambulance arrived at some point, and paramedics were trying to convince you to go with them when a flare of jets roared above you. Your first thought was that it was Wilson’s jetpack. Instead, Iron Man descended, palms down to slow himself.

Stark’s helmet opened and he went right up to you. “Kid, what happened? Are you okay?”

You blinked up at him, mouth open slightly, barely able to form sentences. “They shot at me.”

He went to touch you, but you backed away.

“They won’t let anyone touch them, sir,” one of the paramedics informed.

“Then don’t touch them,” Stark snapped. He went and conversed with them and the police officers. You barely heard him.

A while later, Stark was before you again. “We’re going back now,” he said gently.

Stark had called in a private jet at some point. No one would make physical contact with you there. You shook during the entire flight. Stark brought you water and kept talking to you, but you couldn’t focus. He ended up leaving you with a blanket and promising that they would be home soon.

Only later Stark would you realize that he could have flown back by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to find out more about how people actually trail and kidnap others, especially in daylight, but I couldn't find anything. I'd ask on a forum, but I'd rather get the chapter out. So you get questionable accuracy! How lucky! It would have been so helpful if I had actually been to DC and know what it looks like. I had multiple tabs open with images and satellite stuff for the National Mall. This chapter was such a goddamn struggle.
> 
> Thanks for reading, though! I love you all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, been a while. I have a fairly valid reason that.
> 
> A few weeks ago, my significant other of eight years broke up with me. As you can imagine, I haven't been taking it well. The chapter kind of sucks as a result but honestly, fuck it. If I become perfectionisty then I'll never publish anything.
> 
> Anyway, don't worry about it. I'll be fine.
> 
> EDIT: Sorry I take so long to reply to comments sometimes. I read every one, but I feel like I don't deserve to reply until I post the next chapter.

By the time you returned to the Facility, the bruise on your wrist had swollen an inch high despite having been wrapped in ice. The rest of your injuries were minor, various smaller bruises and scrapes from your fall. They were treated during the jet ride, although you had to be guided through the process, as no one could touch you. It was a hollow feeling. Even though you _knew_ you wouldn’t like other people tending to you, the fact that they _couldn’t_ was lonely.

Stark wouldn’t let you go straight to your room, threatening to evict you if you didn’t see a doctor. One of the doctors who worked in the building made a ‘house’ call so you could avoid brushing against others in the hallways. She had insisted on taking an X-ray of your wrist just in case, explaining that severe bruises could sometimes hide a fracture. The two of you planned to meet up after work hours to use the imaging rooms.

You wanted no one else to visit you. You needed the time to process your ordeal.

You had been abnormally calm during your interactions with others up until the doctor left. Then you sat on your bed, and, as if a switch was flipped, you promptly broke down.

 

-

 

Despite your exhaustion, sleep hadn’t come easily. To make matters worse, you woke early and couldn’t fall back asleep. You lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, detached. Time was forgotten, and when a knock on the door jolted you out of your stupor, you weren’t sure if minutes or hours had passed. You called for whoever was there to wait before rushing to wash your face.

You cracked the door and saw Rhodes. “Yeah?”

“It’s three o’ clock,” he stated.

You glanced at your phone. “That—” you paused to repress a yawn—"that it is.”

“We haven’t seen you around. Have you eaten anything?”

“Mind your…” You stopped yourself. He was just trying to be nice. “I don’t really have an appetite.”

Rhodes frowned. “You should eat something. I know you’re not feeling well, but it’s much easier to... To deal with things, when you’re not running on empty. Speaking from experience, here.”

Every Avenger you knew—and likely some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. employees—had been through firefights. And you didn’t want to hear about any of it. You didn’t want to think about anyone else’s trauma right then, and you hated yourself for it.

“Is anyone else down there now?” You asked.

“Yeah, few people.”

You blinked at nothing a few times, registering slowly. When you didn’t respond after a while, Rhodes said, “I can ask them to leave.”

“It’s fine,” you said automatically.

Rhodes crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You gotta compromise with me, here.”

“No, I don’t.” You mulled it over anyway, trying to come up with the least stressful solution. “Uh, maybe someone could…” You scrunched up your face.

“Could…?” Rhodes urged, trying not to grin.

Asking for someone to help you like this left a bitter taste in your mouth and he knew it. “Could bring up…”

Rhodes must have been happy with your answer, because he didn’t wait for you to drag out the words. “Great! I’ll bring you something. Any requests?”

Your cheeks heated. “No. Anything is fine. I’m not picky.”

He looked far too smug as he left. You’d been brought food before when you were stuck in the Boom Room, but you had never _requested_ it, and leading you into doing so must have been satisfying to him.

 _Asshole,_ you thought as you closed the door, but you knew you didn’t mean it.

 

-

 

It took a few days before you were ready to talk about D.C.. All of the Avengers had gathered in the rec room, sitting around a table and facing you.

“I couldn’t do anything,” you said, running a hand over your head. “I was completely useless.”

“What were you supposed to do?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know!” You said suddenly, angry. “I put people in danger. I always do. What if the gunmen had missed and hit someone else?”

“But they didn’t,” Banner cut in.

“They could have,” you shot back.

“Um,” Barton said, “are we going to talk about who ‘they’ are?”

The Avengers launched into discussion. You didn’t pay as much attention as you normally would, distracted by what-ifs. _What if, what if, what if._ The bullets could have been just millimeters away from hitting someone else. It didn’t matter if no one was hurt. And what of the Winter Soldier? What of James Barnes? If you mentioned him, would he be in danger? You couldn’t let that happen, not after he saved your life.

“Kid?”

You looked up at Stark to find him—and everyone else—staring at you. “Huh?”

“We asked you a question.”

“A few questions,” Wanda said, her tone all concern.

You paused, trying to figure out how you had heard nothing. “I’m sorry. I guess I zoned out.”

“You _guess_?” Barton said, but Romanoff pinched him. “Ow!”

“Can you repeat the question?” You said.

“Questions,” Barton corrected, earning another, harder pinch. “Ow!”

Steve, having been silent all the while, finally spoke up. “It’s more of a debriefing, really. We need your account. We need to know what happened.”

You stared at the table, replaying the events. They were, somehow, both vague and terrifyingly detailed. The memories of the firefight came and went like tides. The faces of the gunmen were blurry in your head, but you remembered _exactly_ what their guns looked like. You remembered the tunnel vision when the woman aimed at you, how reality shifted away and you felt like you were outside your body, witnessing your own final moments.

When you remained silent, Rhodes cleared his throat to grab your attention. “Why don’t you try and start from the beginning?”

You nodded slowly and did so, describing the moment the gun pressed against your back up until the man pushed you toward the car. You stopped then. How on earth could you keep Barnes out of the story when he was the reason you made it home in one piece?

“The man, the one who shot me—he didn’t know I could fly,” you said, furrowing your brow as if straining to remember. “He moved his arm off my shoulder to open the car door and that gave me the chance to escape. But I was afraid to be seen flying. You understand.”

Various nods all around. So far, so good. It was easy to mask your hesitation and uncertainty when you were already struggling to function. “So I stuck to running as much as I could, but no matter how hard I tried to lose them, they kept finding me.” _Kept finding me._ The statement made you nauseous. “I only flew again when they blocked me off. I went to the rooftops.”

“That was a good call,” Romanoff said, but you had a bitter feeling that she was just trying to make you feel better.

“No, it wasn’t,” you said sharply. “They had a man on the roof. _That’s_ how they knew my movements. I should’ve figured it out.”

“You weren’t in a position to think clearly.” Vision, leaning forward in earnest. “You speak as if you have been trained for such a situation. From what I’ve inferred, you’ve never been shot at. There is no reason you should act as if the fault was yours.”

You hated how precise Vision was sometimes. It was his nature, but it was too honest for your liking. You decided to ignore his words. You could feel bad about it later. “He chased me from rooftop to rooftop. I don’t know if he was enhanced or had special gear.”

“Okay,” Banner said, “it sounds like it took some time before the police got there. Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they used silencers?”

“Suppressors. Not silencers,” Romanoff corrected.

“And your scrapes?” Rhodes asked.

“He aimed for the inhibitor,” you said. “He must have guessed it was related to my powers… But he shot it while I was airborne and I fell, hit the roof.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “I thought you were hit while you were on the ground. But right out of the air? You could have missed the roof!”

It wasn’t something you’d thought about, but it didn’t matter much when you had already been fleeing death. You frowned. Something was nagging at the back of your mind, and it took a few minutes of silent reflection until the realization made you jump to your feet. “No!” You spoke so suddenly and loudly that a few of the others were visibly startled.

Everyone stared. No one said a single thing until you regained composure. You breathed out slowly. “No. They weren’t trying to kill me. I remember now. She aimed for my leg.”

Banner looked down, then away, pensive. Sam was avoiding your eyes. Stark kept a blank face, but you noticed he was clenching his fists. The rest glanced at each other worriedly.

“What does it mean?” Banner stated more than asked. The question hung in the air. Between the subject matter and everyone’s tension, the air around you felt thick and heavy.

“Keep going,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “What happened next?”

“I made it to the fire escape,” you replied, then stopped again. After that, everything worked out because of Barnes’ intervention. Making up alibis on-the-spot wasn’t your strong suit. You needed to stall, so your put your head in your hands and sighed. The others waited while you scrambled to think of something.

The ruse gave you a moment to calm down. Think. You realized it was simpler to cut Barnes out of the story rather than make a filler.

“When I got to the bottom, I ran. I didn’t get far,” you said. “One of the men grabbed me and tried to force me into his car. That’s when I found out what my power had switched to.”

“It happened the moment the inhibitor broke, then,” Stark said. “That brings up more questions about how your powers function…”

“Another time,” Romanoff said. “Did you see anything that could help us?”

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, guilty and frustrated with yourself. “It’s hard enough to retain what I see as is. Under the stress, well… I don’t remember much. It’s blurry. I’m sorry.”

Romanoff looked disappointed, but she nodded. “And after he grabbed you?”

“The police showed up pretty quick by then,” you said. “The gunmen didn’t stick around.” _Especially after facing the Winter Soldier,_ you thought.

“So their mission was supposed to be a quick in-and-out,” Barton mused. “If they left that quick, that means kidnapping you was a lower priority than getting caught.”

“Slippery bastards,” Stark cursed. He was fidgety, tapping his fingers on the table.

Even with your meager summary of events, the Avengers were making inferences you’d never have picked up on. You had nothing to contribute in comparison, so you just gave a tired shrug. “You guys know the rest of the story.”

Romanoff probed you for details (“So there was one women and three men? What were they wearing? Do you remember any prominent facial features, like scars or birthmarks?”) while the others kept conversing.

Steve was covering his mouth with his fist, waiting for Romanoff to finish. The moment she did, he spoke. “Do you have any idea— _any_ idea—why you would be a target? Even a hunch.” His tone was strained, almost desperate.

“No. I don’t really talk to a lot of people outside this compound, and I don’t think I’ve made any enemies online…” You replied. Of course you’ve had arguments with strangers on the internet, but never something so severe that someone would go out of there way to hire gunmen. “Maybe a customer called corporate on me and now the CEO has me singled out,” you joked lamely.

“What?”

“People are brutal,” you said. “I had a customer come in five minutes before we closed, then file a complaint because I made her sandwich ‘too fast.’”

Everyone paused.

“You’re kidding,” Wanda said.

Stark whistled. “No wonder you were upset. I would have blown the place up, too.”

You gave him a sour look and he held up his hands. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“Nothing to go off of, then,” Wilson said, ignoring Stark’s remark..

“No. I don’t know anything. I don’t know why this is happening.” You were surprised to feel your heart pounding. How long had it been pounding? Why? _Just once, I want things to go right. Just once._ You felt out-of-breath, felt sick.

Wilson studied you for a moment, then gave an knowing look that aggravated you. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out. Always do. Why don’t we stop for today?”

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically. “But I will take a nap now, I think.”

“Don’t sleep too long,” Barton said tiredly. “It supposedly makes you feel worse.”

“I will sleep as long as I damn well please, consequences be damned.”

“You said ‘damn’ twice,” Stark quipped unhelpfully.

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. I’m sleeping as long as I want. It’ll be fine.”

 

-

 

You woke up with a cold.

The air felt cool against your clammy skin, but your body radiated an uncomfortable heat that made your muscles ache. Getting up was a mental battle in itself. Without any job to force you out of bed, why bother?

The clock read 1:00. You had slept a couple hours, then. You squinted, then balked to see that it was 1:00 _AM_. You slept for the entire day! It made sense, since you were sick, but it still felt like a waste.

You pulled a robe on over your pajamas and lumbered down the hall to the rec room, heading for the pantry. You were sick; you didn’t want to be around the kitchen every day. You decided to take enough food up to your room for the next few days. Stocking up this late was advantageous, there wasn’t a flow of people in the building. You held up the hem of your robe to create a makeshift bag, filled it with snacks, and carefully made your way back.

Despite the empty halls, you were tense, listening for the smallest sound. The hallways seemed to ring in silence, making you dizzy. You weren’t sure if you were hearing the blood rushing through your body, or the pipes and cooling system of the building. But Stark might have had them built to be silent, so there was no way of knowing.

Your skin prickled, the air frigid against your fiery skin. Then the sound of footsteps materialized, getting louder, and when Barton rounded the corner, you jumped.

“Hosting a slumber party?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He held back a yawn.

“My room is devoid of snacks,” you explained, heart pounding.

“I understand _completely_. You should probably have brought something to carry those that isn’t your robe, though.”

“My brain said ‘me hungry, eat now’ and I gave it no further thought.” Watching him yawn made you acutely aware of how much you needed to sneeze, but you held it in.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you make a great kangaroo.” He grinned, proud of his own dumb joke.

“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically. You were waiting for him to tease you about oversleeping, but he said nothing on the matter. “What about you? Why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep.” He didn’t seem bothered, just resigned. “Sorry if I startled you. I know you’re trying to avoid people until the whole,” he gestured, “The mind meld thing, until it passes.”

“Mind meld?” You smiled slyly. “Your age is showing, Barton.”

“Hey, Star Trek is good,” he pointed at you accusingly. “Besides, that means you know it too.”

You laughed. “Well… It _is_ good.”

“Which series?” Barton asked.

“Most of them.”

“I like you.”

That made you laugh again, but he was nodding assuredly. “I won’t keep you any longer. You really should take it easy, you know?” He said. “What you experienced, it’s tough.”

You looked down, uncomfortable. Barton was only trying to help, but you wanted to forget about the entire thing. Bury it far away and leave it there.

“I’ll admit, I’m not at my best. But I’ll be fine.” You shrugged. “Times like these just make you appreciate when you _do_ function normally.”

“Like when you’re sick?”

“Exactly.” You couldn’t help narrowing your eyes slightly. Did he know? If there was one useless skill you’d gained from years of retail and food-service labor, it was not coughing or sneezing in front of people.

“Hop on to bed and get better,” Barton smiled, confirming your suspicion.

“How’d you know?”

“Dads always know.” He gave a little salute and walked past you, giving you a wide berth. “It’s a superpower you can only gain by becoming a parent.”

Once he had turned away, you smiled, rolled your eyes, and left.

 

-

 

You dreamed vividly. Fever dreams always plagued you when you were sick, every time, without fail. It wasn’t always bad, but it was always intense. And when there were nightmares, they were horrible. You were spared of most of it this night, only a fraction of your dreams scary.

You felt like you had touched someone with your ability. Scenes played in front of you, but it was different. Instead of lightning-flashes of alternating memories, each one faded into the other. The experiences of others were happened around you in stark detail, as real as actually being there. Deep in your consciousness, you knew you were dreaming. But it was like being trapped in a play, and as clear as day, you could see through a stranger’s eyes.

_“I’m sorry. I know I messed up. Please… Please don’t be mad. That’s why I’m telling the truth, because I don’t want you to be mad.” You sobbed, your nose stuffy. “Please, mom. I’m really sorry…”_

_The world faded into darkness, and the moment it hit pitch black, it faded back in rapidly. You blinked, laughed, looked at your husband warmly. Then you looked down at your infant son again and your chest swelled with a love so strong it made you weak, and made you strong. When he saw that you were looking at him, he smiled and kicked his legs in excitement, and your heart absolutely ached._

_You held him close to your chest, whispering softly, gently, fiercely. “I will_ never _let anything happen to you.”_

 _You felt your husband wrap his arms around you and melted as you realized that you had gone from a married couple to a_ family.

_Darkness. Light._

He’s only eighteen! _Despair._ He’s too young. This can’t happen now, it can’t. It’s not right. He shouldn’t have to go through this! Please, God. Please _._

_Dark. Light._

_You were looking at the room from above, from multiple spaces. You could see each perspective at the same time. It should have made you dizzy. You pulled away some, still watching vigilantly but reaching out into the network, feeling no touch, but connections that just made sense._

_A man walked into the room and you instantly focused on him, then relaxed—if it could be called relaxing, you didn’t really feel anything—and greeted him._

_Your vision fading into dark like eyes closing. Once more, light._

_Your were hyperventilating, barely able to hear the laughs as you frantically dug through your bag. Inhaler, you needed your inhaler—_

_The big one planted his foot onto your shoulder and kicked you onto your back. Before you could reach him, he grabbed your bag._

_“Need something?” He said. The other boys laughed. “If you want it back, beg for it.”_

_You would rather die. You just might._

_“Okay, break it up! Move!” The coach, appearing from out of nowhere, as welcome a sight as an angel. “You—all of you--principle’s office, now.” He snatched your backpack from the boy and pulled you to a sit. You wheezed as he reached into your bag to find your inhaler. Air, it was so hard to breathe…_

Darkness.

Then, finally, a light that made sense. You squinted at the artificial sunlight pouring in through your fake window (your room was closer to the center of the building.) Sweat made your clothes stick to your skin and you shivered. Your nose was almost entirely clogged and you struggled to breathe for just a moment, your dream still fading from your consciousness.

 _Ugh. That was an experience._ You knew instinctively that the dreams were a result of the touchsense, memories and experiences of others burned into your psyche, perhaps forever. _I hope not._

No one bothered you for the majority of the day. You expected it to continue, but that evening, someone knocked on your door.

As far as you could tell, no one else knew you were sick. Vision would have likely been able to pick up on it, but you were staying in your room anyway. For now and until you were better, life would be television, video games, and tissue boxes. Or so you figured, at least.

“Who is it?” You shouted.

“It’s Steve.”

“Just a sec.”

He was casually leaning against the doorway, but it didn’t stop him from taking up the entire frame. “Hey.”

“‘Hey’ yourself. What’s up?” You tilted your head at him. It wasn’t often that people came to your room. Everyone respected each other’s privacy—sometimes you just needed to be away from people. It was a universal understanding in the compound.

“Just checking in.” He scratched the back of his neck. “We haven’t seen you in a while, and considering the last few days, well… Thought I’d stop by.”

“I’m fine.”

He glanced over your shoulder at the trash bin, half-filled with crumpled tissues, then looked back at you.

“It’s no big deal,” you said. “It’s just boring. Being sick, I mean.”

“Yeah?” He smiled. “You miss being around people?”

“Oh, gross. Don’t put it that way.” You wrinkled your nose.

He laughed. “Would you like company?”

“I appreciate it,” you said, “but I’m currently infectious. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We could just stay here. If you don’t mind people in your room, I mean.”

Steve was a friend, but he was still _Captain America_ to you. It was infinitely strange that he was offering to hang out. In your room.

“I’ll get you sick,” you said. “I can’t.”

“No you won’t.” He smiled. “Super-soldier immune system.”

“Oh.” You considered it. “I mean, there’s nothing to do, really.”

He looked up thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed something about this generation. When you’re with friends, you always have to be doing something. You rarely just sit and talk. No distractions.”

The idea of sitting and talking with Steve Rogers, without any sort of background distraction, was terrifying, and so you said, “we could catch you up on some movies.”

Steve gave you a look, an almost-smile that told you he could see right through you. But he didn’t press the issue. “Alright. Sounds fun. Got somethin’ in mind?”

Relieved, you asked, “do you like horror films?”

“I haven’t seen any from this time.”

“Oh, _excellent_. It’s time to introduce you to a legend.” You plucked a DVD off of your shelf and set it down on the bed so he could pick it up without touching you. Handing it directly to him was too risky.

“The Exorcist,” he read, turning the box over.

“Don’t read it! You’re going in completely blind,” you said. “Any other way will ruin the experience.”

“Whatever you say.”

 

-

 

What you didn’t tell Steve was that The Exorcist was the first movie to make audiences pass out in the theaters. You gleefully awaited the infamous stair scene, watching Steve for his reaction.

Steve noticed you watching him and was rightly apprehensive. At a glance, he didn’t seem to be bothered, but his wide eyes and rigid posture gave him away. You bet he was using all of his willpower not to cover his eyes.

Then the stair scene happened and Steve went pale. It was the best moment of your life.

“Jesus,” he said once the scene ended, lips pressed together tightly. You were grinning from ear to ear and he shook his head, taking a breath. “I didn’t know you were a sadist.”

“I’m just showing you the genius that is the future. Someone thought of this and made it happen,” you said.

“Did they have to?” Steve sighed.

“Shh, watch the movie. I promise the rest won’t be as bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I hope nothing bad happened to that family.
> 
> Sorry about the dream sequences. I never meant to use it as filler, I just love them. Though these were less sequences and more memories.
> 
> Also, here's an excerpt from some article I forgot the name of:
> 
> [However, many movie-goers were not prepared for the film's graphic horror. During a screening in New York, reports claimed several audience members ran from the theater in hysterics, while others fainted or vomited. In fact, word got all the way around the world that the film was having such devastating effect on audience members. By the time The Exorcist opened in the UK, theaters had ambulances waiting outside with stretchers, just in case they were needed.]


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I wouldn't abandon the fic. But hoo, boy, has it been a while.
> 
> I've been struggling with two break-ups, but what really hit me was the loss (not death, just a rather nasty falling out) of one of my best friends. Ten years is a long time to know someone. But I'm much better than I was a few months ago. Depression has hit me hard, but I try to take advantage of the small moments where the urge to write strikes, even if it's five minutes once a week.
> 
> For those of you who've seen Spiderverse, (if not, go see it right the fuck now) for the last few months, (EXTREMELY MINOR SPOILER)---I was Peter sobbing in the shower.
> 
> Again, the quality sucks, but again, I'll never publish it if I strive for perfection. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

“You’re a liar,” Steve said.

“How does this scare you? Haven’t you fought, like, super Nazis?” You said.

“None of them spun their head three-sixty degrees. Or projectile vomited,” he said.

“Oh my god, the pea soup scene was not that bad.”

“Please don’t call it pea soup.”

“What would you rather I call it?”

“Not pea soup.”

“This is censorship,” you protested.

“No, it’s being a decent human being.” Steve was trying not to grin.

Neither of you noticed that Romanoff had walked into the rec room. She always moved as silently as a cat. Of course, it was her job to be unseen and unheard. You were still getting used to how she could appear out of nowhere if you weren’t paying attention. “Hey, guys. What are we arguing about?” She asked.

“Whether it’s okay to refer to demon-possessed projectile vomit as ‘pea soup,’” you replied.

“Scintillating. I’m so glad I made it in time for this conversation.” She had a hefty stack of papers. “The Exorcist?”

“Yep,” you replied. “How’s it going? Busy?”

She smiled. “Don’t worry, they’re not all for me. Actually, I came to get you. Stark wants to meet you in the lab. I’m your bodyguard.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I have some docs that need his signature anyway,” she said. “I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anyone.”

“Guess I’ll see you both later,” Steve said, giving a lazy salute.

“I’ll give Stark your regards,” you teased.

 

-

 

Romanoff handed Stark a thick stack of papers.

“Thanks,” he said flatly.

The soft hum of computers gave the lab a relaxing air. The projected screens glowed softly. Combined with your fever, it made you sleepy. You suppressed a yawn.

As usual, Stark was bent over something at his work table. You guessed it was a new inhibitor. He shouldn’t have had to build a new one. It was your fault.

Stark glanced over at you. Upon noticing your fallen expression, he asked, “what’s wrong? What’re you thinking about?”

“It was my first day out with the inhibitor. My first day out, and I broke it.” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you said, resting your head against your hand. “I’m so sorry.”

 “It’s not like you to apologize to me,” Stark teased gently.

“Besides,” Romanoff said, leaning against the wall, “ _you_ didn’t break the inhibitor.”

“I was responsible for it,” you argued.

“Kid, let it go. No one believes that, so the self-pity will get you nowhere,” Stark said.

You pressed your lips into a frown. You harbored _guilt_ , not _pity_. Maybe he had a point regardless, but you didn’t want to entertain it.

Romanoff chuckled. “That stress you out even more?”

“I don’t like how well you’re getting to know me,” you said dryly. It was a joke, but there was just a touch of truth to it. The anxiety of getting close.

“Knowing things is my job.” She threaded her fingers under her chin coyly. “It’s not my fault I’m so good at it.”

“Someone’s gotta be around here,” you said, making eye contact with Stark.

“Hey, I resent that,” he said.

You and Romanoff shared a suppressed grin.

“Okay then, smart guys. If I’m not good at my job, then would I have made—” he turned one of the work-tables dramatically— “this?”

There rested _two_ new sets of inhibitors, smaller and sleeker than the their predecessors. He plucked one from the table, flopped into a rolling chair, and kicked over to you. “Ta-da!” He said, dropping it into your hands. “I present the MK-II. It has some performance improvements over the first one, and—!” He took the second inhibitor from the table, then hurled it at the ground with all of his might, making you jump.

It clattered on the ground, perfectly intact.

“Bulletproof,” Stark said proudly.

You turned the pieces over in your hands. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you?’”

“Eh.”

“You’re mean to me.” He looked at Romanoff. “Both of you.”

“I’m nice,” Romanoff stated.

“She’s nice,” you agreed.

“You’re welcome for the upgrade,” said Stark. “Even the just, noble man cannot win when he is outnumbered.”

You laughed. “Thank you, Stark. I appreciate it. Really.”

He nodded. “Anything else I can slave over for you?”

Romanoff rolled her eyes, but you perked up. “Actually, there is something.”

“Oh?”

“I completely forgot about it in all the…” you waved your arm. “The whole situation. My phone broke when I hit the roof,” you reminded him. It was a lie, of course—with any luck, James Barnes was still holding onto it. “The pieces are probably still up there.”

“It’s probably police evidence by now,” Romanoff said. When she saw your worried look, she quickly added “don’t worry, they won’t convict you. It’s irrefutable that you were the victim.”

“I’m not a _victim_ ,” you said. Stark and Romanoff looked at each other, but didn’t press it.

“Need a new phone, then,” Stark said. “Want to switch numbers?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes please.” You ran a hand over your head.

“Once I get it, I’ll leave it on the table in the rec room.”

“Sounds good.”

“If you can’t be around people, I can bring it up to your room,” Romanoff offered.

“It’s fine. I’ll swing by after hours,” you said.

Stark said, “and would that be all for you?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll come up with more work for you soon.”

Stark made a sweeping movement with his hands. “Out of my lab, out of my lab.”

You waved at Romanoff and grabbed your new inhibitors before leaving.

 

-

 

You received a knock on the door that night, at exactly the same time as the night before. It had to have been Steve, probably offering to hang out again. You grabbed a tissue and stood by the door, then blew your nose as loud as possible. With any luck, it would gross him out enough to change his mind.

You tossed the tissue over your shoulder and opened the door. Steve looked unbothered, smiling in that soft, lazy way of his. “How are you doing?”

“I long for death.”

He laughed. “One thing about being a super-soldier—I can’t say I miss being ill. Muscle aches, stuffy sinuses, persistent cough?”

“All of it,” you said. “And it’s not ‘one thing’ about being a super-soldier. Physically, you’ve got _everything_.”

“Can’t argue that.” He gestured toward the TV. “Winna watch a movie?”

“Again?” You said in fake exasperation.

Steve leaned against the doorway. “I didn’t know you disliked my company.”

“I loathe it,” you said.

He laughed again. “I was thinking, since you shared a movie with me the other day, maybe I can show you one?”

“That’s fair. Whatcha have in mind?”

“Modern Times.”

You couldn’t help but snort, your face twisting in the effort of trying not to laugh. You turned your head away, biting your lip.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Hilarious, I know.”

The atmosphere was completely different with the whimsical comedy of Charlie Chaplin. Rather than the tight-lipped suspense of a horror movie, Steve would chuckle from time to time, completely relaxed. He sat on the floor in front of the bed, facing away from you. He couldn’t see you watching him from your perch on the bed. You had always hated the small flair of anxiety in your chest when you made eye contact with someone. Now that it was absent, you indulged yourself, following the broad curves of his back up to the dirty-blonde, unkempt hair-do of a day off. His skin, close enough that you could see the imperfections, the bumps and scars.

It wasn’t sexual, but certainly intimate. A one-sided intimacy. You weren’t sure if it was wrong to stare. It felt like Steve had his walls down. He wasn’t self-conscious (or at least, he didn’t show it) and you could just feel that he wasn’t policing his actions.

You wanted that kind of confidence right then. Of course you weren’t always on edge around people, but last week’s incident left you raw.

So you tried to follow Steve’s example, focusing on the movie rather than your anxious thoughts. Despite your initial nervousness, you were able to enjoy yourself. And then, as it came to a close, you started thinking about James Barnes.

You had to tell Steve. You _had_ to. It was wrong to keep that information from him. But your stomach rolled at the thought of what he would say. What he would do. Steve was wearing a smile on his face. He believed you were his friend. What he would think of you, then, when he found out you hid this from him?

You stared a hole into the wall and took a slow breath. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” He looked back over his shoulder.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I know we’ve lived together a few months, but this all feels sudden.” He grinned to show he was kidding.

“You wish.”

He laughed. “What is it?”

“During the… incident…” You froze. You couldn’t bring the words out. _He would understand,_ you thought, but you shook your head. “Maybe… maybe later. I’m sorry I brought it up.” You were a coward. You couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t.

Steve turned around, looking at you curiously. “Hey. I know this is a sore subject for you, but be honest: are you okay?”

It _was_ a sore subject, the flashbacks and nightmares were proof enough of that. “You know I’m not,” you muttered. “You know what it’s like.”

He was silent, nodding slightly.

“Stop pretending that things are okay,” you said, suddenly upset. “They’re not. They’re never going to be. Understand? I might live with this for the rest of my life. You know that.” You paused, but couldn’t hold the anger from your voice. “This is why I never wanted to come here, Steve. The things you do for others, the saving-the-world business—I don’t want any part of that. I’m dealing with enough as it is. So just… stop.” Of course, all the Avengers had dealt with much worse. You felt awful, knowing they held far deeper traumas than you. And even so, for that exact reason, a bitterness welled up inside you.

Steve looked away, staring at the dark screen of your monitor. Then he looked you in the eye. “Do you really believe you would be safer at home?”

“What, like if they would find me? I don’t know. But I have no doubts that being here, being around everyone, it played a part in this.”

“Do you blame us?”

The question caught you off-guard. He spoke with sincerity, genuinely curious. For a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. You liked the Avengers. You were hesitant to call them your friends, but you liked them. But they were forever tied to the worst threats the entire _planet_ faced. Maybe even other galaxies. And sometimes those threats were secret, evil organizations, one of which was out for your blood. _No. They don’t want to kill me. They want something else._ Somehow, that felt exponentially worse.

“I’m not sure. I think… Maybe a little. Yeah, a little bit.”

He nodded, frowning just a bit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” When the hurt flashed across your face, he quickly elaborated, “That it happened to you in the first place. That bad things happen to good people.”

“Ah. Yeah.” You didn’t believe him, not after you just admitted to blaming him and the Avengers. He was too good a man not to be upset. And he still thought well of you. “Aw, Steve. You called me a good person.”

He laughed, helping to ease the both of you out of the tense conversation. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“Yeah, a lot. Good suggestion,” you said, then added “you have decent taste for a fossil.”

Steve rose to his feet. “If you’re gonna bully me, I’m leaving.”

“Good,” you said, pointing an imaginary rifle at him. “Get off ma’ property.”

Steve grinned at you over his shoulder. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

 

-

 

You sat cross-legged on your bed, curled over the temporary phone Stark gave you. You stared at the screen, stared at your phone number, finger hovering over the call button. You had to pull your blanket up around your shoulders—somehow, it felt colder than usual. Maybe it was just the fever. Your stomach knotted.

 _Okay._ You rested the phone against your forehead, anxious. _Just fucking do it._

You hit ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear with shaking hands. A tense silence. The ring after made a chill run down your spine.

Three rings. Four. A pause. You stiffened, heart pounding. _Please go to voicemail._

There was a faint _click_ that you barely heard. Silence.

“Hello?” You said timidly. Even in your room, even in the Avengers facility, you felt exposed.

Another agonizing pause. Then, finally, a soft, gravelly voice said “What?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “It’s me.”

“What do you want?”

It hurt, a little bit, how he didn’t seem to _want_ to talk to Steve. “I want you to meet him.”

“No. What do you _really_ want?” The accusation in his voice surprised you.

“I mean it,” you said nervously. “I saw the exhibit in the museum. You’re his friend.”

Silence.

“He’s been looking for you,” you pressed. “Please.”

You could hear Barnes’ low breathing. “Give me a reason to trust you.”

“You saved my life,” you said simply. He couldn’t refute that. Maybe he still wouldn’t trust you, but you hoped knowing Steve would help your chances.

A long silence followed. When you stopped hearing his breathing, you thought he hung up, but the timer was still running. He must have lowered the phone for a while. He was thinking.

“Come alone,” he said finally.

Your breath caught in your chest. “What?”

“Come alone.”

Your stomach churned. The question caught you off-guard, and you couldn’t think of anything to say except “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t come.”

“If I go alone, they might find me.”

Silence. You were starting to give up on the entire pursuit.

“Give me your location. I’ll send you instructions on where to go.”

“But—"

“The path will be clear,” he stated. “Don’t look for me. I’ll find you.”

A wave of relief. “Thank you,” you said, but he had already hung up. You stared at your screen. If only your anxiety could pass with the call.

But now you had to tell Steve.

 _Tomorrow,_ you thought. _Tomorrow._

 

-

 

You were absolutely not going to tell Steve. You weren’t going to tell anyone. You had to go by yourself. Barnes wouldn’t trust you any other way, and if you told anyone, there was no way in hell they’d let you go alone. You’d never reach Barnes, and that would be the end of it.

It was just before sunset when your phone lit up with a text notification. You all but lunged for it. A message from Barnes. Inside was nothing but a pair of coordinates. No elaboration, no details, no time, nothing.

_I guess that means to go tonight._

Slipping out wouldn’t be too difficult—the Avengers all had their own things to do and places to be, and the majority of SHIELD employees didn’t know all the details of your situation for security reasons.

Your only self-defense was a pocketknife. All the good that would do.

You input the coordinates into your map application and left out the backdoor, heading for the woods. You would follow the woods and empty, hidden areas as much as possible.

The walk felt like a marathon.

Darkness had already fallen, bringing a cold breeze. Your GPS led you deeper into the woods. It was impossible to avoid stepping on leaves and twigs, and every crack and crunch seemed to echo in the pitch. You looked over your shoulder almost more than you looked ahead.

Peering ahead, you could see the woods open up. The clearing was small, and in the middle was an unfinished, abandoned shack. It was wooden and rotting from years of rain. Graffiti covered each wall. There wasn’t a door, but you didn’t have the courage to peek inside.

You leaned against a tree and waited. There was a sense of being watched, but that was a given. He was surely studying you.

Then he appeared—a huge figure, barely silhouetted against the shadows. He had said nothing, merely appeared in front of you like a ghost. His jacket did nothing to hide his muscular figure.

“Fuck,” you jumped, scrambling back.

When he said nothing, you swallowed and tried to speak. Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t find the words. But he stayed silent, and you had the feeling you’d have to talk first.

You said softly, “do you believe me now?”

“Why did you scream when I touched you?” His question cut through the silence.

That was a fair question and you weren’t sure how to explain it. “I have a condition,” you said. “It, uh, flared up after I fell onto the roof.”

“You flew,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“The hell kind of condition is that?”

“The kind that makes people come after you, I guess.”

Silence again. Then a barely-noticeable nod.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t touch me now, either. Or ever,” you said.

He looked down at you. “I thought they were after me,” he said. “Why were they after you?”

You shut your eyes, pushing away the memory of the ordeal. “That’s a good question. I wish I knew.”

“They weren’t trying to kill you.”

“No,” you agreed. “I don’t know what they want with me. I don’t want to know. I just…” You trailed off. You just wanted to live a normal life.

Barnes’ expression was unreadable. He didn’t reply.

“So. Steve?” You tried, swallowing.

His gaze wavered and for the first time, he finally took his eyes off you, glancing down like he was confused. “Steve,” he repeated dumbly.

Maybe you could help him along. If Barnes had agreed to meet up with you, then he was at least considering seeing Steve.

“Yeah, Steve. When and where do you want to meet?” You asked.

Barnes was quiet again, thinking. You tugged at your sleeve nervously.

“I’ll send you coordinates,” he finally said.

You nodded. “Okay, but I need a date. I have to make sure he won’t be busy that night.”

“I’ll send it.”

Relief washed over you. You had done it. Somehow, you managed to convince the Winter Soldier.

Barnes turned away without a word, stepping around the corner of the shack and out of sight.

You slid down to a sit, needing a moment to recuperate. Adrenaline left you shaky.

The walk back felt colder, somehow. Despite Barnes’ assurance that the path would be safe, you had some doubts. How did he know? He had stated it so confidently, like it was a given. Maybe he had kept watch over the trail beforehand. Maybe he watched you the entire time you walked.

Was he watching you now?

Luck was on your side that night—none of the Avengers were around, and the few employees that worked at night didn’t look twice at you.

You collapsed onto your bed without changing into clean clothes, curling up. Now, you had no choice but to tell Steve. There was no more holding it off—you had to make sure he was free on the day you were to meet up with Barnes.

Between your waning cold and your knotted stomach, sleeping was challenging that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you, by the way. Also, next week is my birthday--consider gifting me a comment?
> 
> You all rock. Thanks for waiting.


End file.
